Want, Need, Have
by Areias
Summary: A collection of M-rated chapters that I can't put in my main Airborn fic (which you can find under my profile). Not meant to be read as a standalone!
1. Need (Matt)

**Author's Notes:**

 **This is not meant to be a standalone fic, but part of a storyline from my main Airborn-series fic Freedom, Fascination, and Ferocity. Be warned: this chapter is VERY LONG, because it's not PWP — I hate PWP. Please review and let me know if it was alright. Thank you!**

* * *

"What do you mean?" Kate asked, puzzled. I recognized in her voice a tiny remnant of unsureness from earlier, and hated myself for stopping us when I did. But she was so ridiculously good at teasing me with her touch, I knew this was the last chance we could stop before things went too far. Even now her enchanting fragrance worked constantly to add flame to my desire.

Just an hour ago none of this would have occurred to me in my wildest dreams; there remained a small bubble of disbelief inside me — Kate _wanted_ this to happen. I felt an incredible pressure to be perfect for her, but wasn't sure if I could deliver. I felt like I was flying with neither navigator nor map.

"Matt?" she said, and abruptly I remembered that she was still waiting for my answer. I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"I need to take a shower."

Instantly I wanted to hit myself.

This was so far from what she'd evidently been expecting that it took her a moment to process. Then her nostrils narrowed.

"… All this, because you want to take a _shower?_ "

I stammered. "I — yeah. Or at least that's a part of the reason." She looked to be on the verge of saying something again, and quickly I kissed her shoulder to soothe her rising temper. "I mean, here you are, all fresh and cleaned up, and then there's me — dirty, covered in grime and sweat, haven't had a shower since last night. I probably stink."

"Oh," she said, frowning and pensive. The little bout of temper seemed to have drained out of her. Then she leaned down and pressed her nose into my chest… and _breathed_.

I twitched in surprise. "— Kate?"

"I don't think you're dirty," she said. "And… I like the way you smell. Right now."

"But I'm sweaty and —"

She moved her nose, this time to my armpit, and breathed even deeper. I positively jumped. "K-Kate!"

"I told you I liked your smell," she said. "Humans secrete their pheromones in the underarm region, you know."

"Pharaoh — what?"

"Pheromones; scent hormones," she explained, switching temporarily into lecturer-mode. "They signal fitness and the readiness to mate, and in most animals they are powerful inducers of sexual need." She straightened to kiss me, a raging blush on her face. "And yours is certainly working."

The comment made me unexpectedly excited, and I felt a blush creep down to my neck.

She saw this and grinned. "Honestly, Matt, that was very silly of you. Now, should we continue, or are there any more concerns in need of scientific explanation?"

I smiled sheepishly at her quip. All the same, I thought very hard about what to tell her. A myriad of doubts floated around me, little things like whether or not she thought me too skinny, or wondering if my teeth needed brushing. It would be impossible to list them all out, and she'd probably smack my head somewhere along the line if I tried, so I decided to sum up all my worries into a giant ball of… whatever it was.

"I guess… I guess I'm just afraid." I said lamely in the end, wishing I was as good with words as she was.

"Of what?" she nudged me. "I don't bite."

"Only on rare occasions."

"Matt!"

I laughed and swerved out of reach of her tickling fingers. But then I sighed.

"I'm afraid of… messing up."

"Messing up?" She scoffed. "More than I already have? I don't think so."

"I've always wanted our first time to be perfect," I said. I blushed as I remembered the numerous occasions I'd revisited the scenario, each time polishing it just a little more.

"Well, what's your idea of perfection then? Scented candles and flower petals?"

I shuffled my feet guiltily, and decided to never let her know the details. "Maybe not _perfect_. But at least… without messing up."

"Nonsense," she said with typical Kate-ly confidence, now remarkably restored. "You'll be wonderful."

Her conviction did nothing to ease me. I saw the trust in her smile, and suddenly felt annoyed. I knew it was ugly and unbecoming to feel _annoyed_ in this situation, but I did. She opened her mouth to say something else.

"I just — I don't know how to do this, okay?" I snapped. "I don't even know where to _begin_."

She blinked in surprise. Then she frowned. "This? As in, the actual, you know…?"

"Yes, the actual you-know," I said drily, for once not bothering to feel embarrassed over our current topic. "How to start, what I do, where everything goes, all that."

Kate stared at me strangely. She was silent for a few seconds, longer than was comfortable, then she exhaled. "I don't believe you."

I was about to retort when I caught a hint of something in her gaze, an emotion she was struggling to keep down. She took a shaky breath. "Because you've done this before."

The fight went out of me instantly. I reached for her, ignoring her flinch, and wrapped her against me. She struggled a little but made no overt protest, which I thought was good. We were still for some moments, and then she sighed.

"Before you apologize," I said, "I just want to remind you that I really, _really_ care about you."

She gaped at me and closed her mouth. Then she smiled weakly. "You are a true mindreader, Mr. Cruse."

"I was trained by the very best." I looked her straight in the eye. "Kate, I'm not… I'm not lying."

She understood. She cupped my face and met my gaze. "I know," she said. "I know you forgot about… that night. I was spiteful — it's so easy to get overwhelmed."

"I'm glad you told me."

"We made a promise, didn't we?" She kissed me, which seemed to make her perk up. "You know, I always thought boys just naturally _knew_. After a certain age."

"Everyone knows the basics — every young sky sailor at least. Hard not to when you're surrounded by the talk."

"Even on a fine ship as the _Aurora?_ "

"Even on the _Aurora_ ," I admitted. "Not, you know, openly — Captain Walken made sure of that — but most sky sailor jokes revolved around it so it was inevitable. I used to ask Baz when I didn't understand, and he had to sit me down one day to, er, break me in, just so I'd stop pestering."

Her grey eyes gleamed. "I would've liked to hear that conversation."

"Trust me, you wouldn't." Four years later and I still cringed at the memory. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm clueless about the details. It's like knowing the destination but not at all how to get there. I'm scared I won't be good enough for you."

"You'll always be good enough for me."

I kissed her. "Thanks. But you might have to bear with me for a bit while I figure this out."

"While _we_ figure this out." She grabbed my hands and smiled. "Maybe it's all for the better. We get to learn, together. This is _exciting_."

"But it won't be perfect —"

"No," she said. "Maybe it won't. But that doesn't mean it won't be wonderful."

I paused. Her words cleared the way ahead. Slowly I nodded. "I'll try my best to make it wonderful."

" _We'll_ try _our_ best," she corrected. "It takes two, Mr. Cruse."

We sat ourselves on the bed and kissed. Perhaps because of the conversation we just had, the kiss was a touch timid, with less of the fire and passion of earlier. But Kate was Kate — soon enough I felt myself grow hard. Her hand slid down my side to my waist, aiming to continue where they'd left off, which was when another bout of insecurity hit me. I pulled away a little.

"Before we, um, continue, I, er, hope you won't be… disappointed. In me."

I could hear the rustle of the sheets as she scooted right up to me.

"Disappointed? We just discussed that, remember?" she said, her voice a susurrus of softness.

"This is different. I'm not — I mean I've seen — er — and I'm not…"

I trailed off. She didn't prod me, which was very un-Kate-ly, and I was grateful for it. Somehow her patience calmed me down just enough to find my voice again. I took a deep breath.

"I'm not very big," I said bluntly, feeling my face burn up. "I — I've seen, you know, other men, and I know I'm just, average… And some of them can be… um, a lot bigger?"

I waited for her response, but she only stared. The silence tore at my self-esteem, the fragile thing beginning to crumble all over again. Words spewed out of my mouth to fill the void.

"I mean, there was a time, at a Turkish bath, and the crew took me with them, and a fellow there was bragging to the other fellows that he was gifted like a gorilla, and I know _I'm_ certainly not, and when we saw him, everyone said his missus must be pleased, and I didn't understand it back then, but I do now —"

I finally willed my mouth to snap shut. It was horrifying, like watching an airship crash down to the ground while unable to do anything. A second went by in silence.

Then she started to laugh.

I froze. I didn't expect her to _laugh_. I was confused and embarrassed and slightly miffed; after all that talk about learning together and being honest! Did she think confessing all that was _easy?_

But now she was laughing out loud, leaning sideways into me, her bare shoulder resting on my chest. Her warm body vibrated against mine.

"I'm sorry," she gasped in between shaking fits. "It's just — if this is what I think it's about —"

"I don't know what you think it's about!"

"That was rhetorical! Anyway, I hope _he_ wasn't gifted like a gorilla!"

"What?"

"In fact, I hope _you_ aren't gifted like a gorilla either!" She started all over.

"Kate!"

"Where do you get all these strange notions — Oh, never mind, Matt —"

I groaned. Kate kissed my neck where it met my shoulder. I knew she could tell I was getting annoyed, but she still couldn't stop herself. Finally, she caught her breath and calmed herself down.

"I don't see what's funny about this," I said, disgruntled. It's been a long day, and I had half a mind to go to sleep if I weren't so aroused.

Kate ran her hand over my back, spreading tingles all the way. She was wearing her lecturer smile. "Mr. Cruse," she said, her tone poshed up in professionalism. "Did you know that the male gorilla has the smallest genitalia among the higher primates?"

I had to give her credit for not cracking up again. And the way she said it! The nonchalance of it all made me blush even harder.

Then the meaning of her sentence hit me.

"You're joking," I said.

"I am not," she said. "It's seldom known, but it's true."

"But —"

"The average is a little over one inch in length."

I blinked at her.

" _One?_ "

"One."

"But they're — gorillas are — so big!"

"Yes. But they live in harems, so males don't need to compete for mating rights. Naturally they don't need a big… display."

I was still gaping at her. "How do you know this?"

"Oh, from certain journals," she said breezily. "Of zoological research. I looked it up." Then she realized what she'd said, and grimaced.

"You _what?_ But why on Earth would you look up the size of… of a gorilla's…"

She snuggled herself into me, hands wrapped tight around my back.

"I was nervous!" she said defensively. "I knew I wanted to do this, but none of the books really tell you about the size of — of a boy, not directly at least — and it's not as if I could ask _you._ So I thought of looking up other primates, because I really wanted to get an estimate, since I'd always, you know… heard that it would hurt. A _lot_."

Her muffled voice had become small and almost-scared.

"I don't think it has to," I said quietly, hugging her. She sighed and adjusted her legs a little until she was almost sitting on my lap. My elbow brushed a little against the softness of her breast, and I felt another surge of arousal.

"I don't know, Matt," she said, also quiet. "It might just be something we have to endure. Girls, I mean."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know, silly. But this may be beyond your control. Plus, I'd read a bit of _Fanny Hill_ and what with it going on and on about 'weapons', and 'invasion', and all those other positively belligerent words —"

"Wait, _Fanny Hill?_ " I said, feeling my face heat up. I knew what it was — there was probably no sky sailor who didn't — but Captain Walken took a hard stance against these sort of things, and I'd only ever heard about it in whispered gossip. "That's a banned book!"

"It is," she said with a half-embarrassed twinkle in her eye. "But I had — there was — anyway I saw it in a used bookstore, and had the opportunity to buy it."

"You didn't!" I said, at once mortified and amused. I tried to imagine the face of the store-owner, when a beautiful young lady walked up with a copy of _that_.

"I was sorely tempted!" she said, somehow disgruntled. "But I flipped through the first few pages and there seemed to be a lot of descriptions of pain for one's first time, and then the rest of it was so ridiculous I decided not to buy it."

We looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

"You're extremely well-prepared for this, aren't you?" I said, awed. This was my Kate. Ready for anything.

"I suppose I am," she said. "I like to know what I'm facing."

I blushed. "It won't hurt quite as much as they all claim, I'm sure."

One hand reached down to playfully tap me below the navel, skimming the top of my trousers. "That depends on how this measures against the gorilla."

My blushed deepened. "A — a lot more, if you put it that way. But I'm still just average."

"I guess we'll have to do this sooner or later." She kissed me long and deep, then inhaled as if fortifying herself. "May I… touch it?"

I took a shuddering breath and nodded. She pulled a little at the legs of my trousers, and I knew what she wanted, so I stood up and took them off, letting the fabric pool on the floor. I was still clad in a pair of briefs, obviously, but the loose material no longer hid the general shape of me. I saw Kate's eyes widen ever so slightly at the quick glimpse before I sat back down, hands hiding myself, face burning.

Gently, Kate drew me back to her. Her hands rested briefly at my chest, slid down the center of my abdomen and past my navel, until she stopped just above the waistline of my briefs. I thought I could feel the warm pulse in each of her fingers. We were both trembling.

"Please bear with me," she said, and gave me another kiss. Lightly she brushed away my own hands, then moved down and touched _me_.

It was like electricity. It was much worse and much better than electricity. It was like she touched my very existence. She moved shyly from spot to spot, not exactly long enough for a thorough feel — just brief soft pats, barely grazing the form of me.

Even these seemed almost overwhelming; I was incredibly hard, and twitching with every contact. I leaned forward and rested my forehead on her shoulder, lightheaded. I was infinitely glad I was still wearing briefs, and she hadn't just gone in and _grabbed_ me. If not, I would definitely have made a mess by now.

Abruptly the light touches stopped. I let out a breath, feeling each residual tingle of her fingertips slowly fade.

"Matt, can… can you look up?"

"Huh?" I said, not trusting myself with anything more than a single syllable.

"I'm going to… feel more of you," she said. "But I want to look at you when I do."

I obliged her. When I opened my eyes, hers were a mere inch from mine, studying my expressions intently. There was a fire of something in those mesmerizing orbs. Desire, curiosity. Tentativeness. Maybe even love. She opened her mouth, the question yet unformed on her lips.

I didn't even have the energy to blush. I nodded.

Her hands went back, and this time she used both at once, and in a grasp she took hold of almost all of me. It was an exceedingly powerful sensation, and my vision all but went blank. I honestly thought my brain would burst. I was hurtling to the edge of pleasure faster than I ever imagined possible, and I almost didn't have time to fight it.

I concentrated on her face, forcing myself to worry about what she thought of me and my size. She was frowning, but even that seal of disapproval _just_ barely kept me from exploding. Slowly I retreated from the peak. I was panting and sweating.

That was when I started to worry in earnest. She was _frowning!_ She was disappointed after all. And worse, this wasn't something I could change or learn, like skill or technique. I had to make it up through other means. Dejected, I opened my mouth to apologize to her.

She beat me to it. "Matt, it's too big!" she cried in a panicked whisper. "Make it smaller!"

"Ah!" I shuddered as she subconsciously squeezed. "Wait, _what?_ Smaller?"

"Smaller!" she hissed. "This will never fit!"

I gaped at her. "But I _can't_ make it smaller!"

"You have to!" she said. I detected a hint of tightness in her voice, which brought back enough reason for my brain to function. Instinctively I wrapped my arms around her.

"I'm sorry," I said. I felt absurd over the abrupt turn of events. Of all the possible problems I'd been worried about, this _definitely_ hadn't been one of them.

She buried her face in the nook of my neck. "Oh, never mind." Her voice was still shaky. "It's just — it's going to hurt so much."

Her hand wriggled around the shaft a bit more. I struggled to not squirm. Finally, she sighed and let go. Then she pushed away from my embrace and thumped me on my head.

"Ow! What was that?"

"I thought you said you were average-sized."

"But I am!"

"Liar."

"Ow, stop hitting me!"

"I'm exacting pre-revenge."

"Exacting what?"

"Pre-revenge! For when we actually do it. You're getting a part of that pain!"

I could hear the fear in her voice, and my heart twisted. I didn't know what else to do so I pulled her back in. She squirmed in protest, still trying to hit me, but I kissed her forehead and she acquiesced.

"Is it really that bad?" I asked after she calmed a bit. Despite her distress, a small part of me was secretly pleased, even perversely proud, and I felt immediately ashamed.

"It's _very_ bad," she assured me. "I know because I've tried with my fingers first, and it didn't take much to start feeling stretched — and you are _way_ beyond that limit." She let out a frustrated little noise.

This was said with complete, Kate-ly nonchalance. I gaped in wonder at the information just revealed, and felt powerfully aroused in spite of the situation. _Stop that_ , I told myself. I took a shuddering breath.

"We can always… you know, try again later."

Kate raised her eyebrows. "Later?"

"Yeah. Or… or if you're really that uncomfortable, we —" I steeled myself, fighting the primal urge in my body telling me not to say it: "We don't have to do it."

She stared at me, as if not quite believing I'd made the offer, before she shook her head. "No," she said, with absolute certainty. "Matt, I want you _inside_ me."

I didn't know if that was considered a passionate declaration, but it sent blood rushing to my cheeks and between my legs. It fanned the flames already coursing under my skin. I kissed her, on the lips this time, hungrily. I was trembling with lust, for I knew I wanted to be inside her too. I wanted to join with her, to experience these new sensations together. But I wanted it to be just as comfortable for her.

"We'll take it slow," I said as the kiss broke. "I promise."

Her hands didn't go back south, but lingered around my torso, absently caressing. I wanted to reciprocate, to touch her breasts, but didn't quite dare with her thin chemise still in place. Instead I held on to her soft back and contented myself with the silky skin of her shoulders and waist.

"Like I said, maybe I just have to endure it," she sighed dejectedly. "It's only the first time that hurts, right?"

"I don't know," I said. "But you shouldn't have to go through any pain. That's just… not right."

"Female cats go through a lot of pain. Every single time. That's why they yowl."

I kissed her, loving how random she was. "Lucky we aren't cats, are we? Maybe there's something I could do to help."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Aside from make yourself smaller?" Then she saw my expression, and rubbed my chest. "I'm sorry. I'm being cruel."

"I always thought bigger was better," I muttered. It was what I'd always been told, by sky sailors and men in general.

"You're an idiot, Mr. Cruse. Ugh, I'm just so _cross_ at myself! I mean, Nadira endured the same thing and —"

I silenced her. "I. don't. care. about. her," I said between each touch of our lips, desperate to convey my feelings through our touching skin. "I care about _you_. I don't want to hurt you."

My hands slid down her shoulders. I didn't want to be stopped by the fabric of her chemise anymore. With one hand I reached to her back and started to attack the lace. With the other I slipped the shoulder straps off, relishing the smooth unblemished skin beneath. Here I paused. It should be fine, right? She already touched me all over, and now I wanted to touch her. Just to be sure, I checked; Kate had gotten very quiet, and was peering at me with a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Her hands dug into my back, as if forbidding me to pull away. I took this to mean she didn't mind, and urgently I continued to fumble my way down her back.

I found a string somewhere in all that groping and pulled on it; a tie became unraveled, and her entire chemise loosened. I kissed her some more, to reassure her like she did with me before touching me. She lifted her arms briefly to pull them out of the shoulder straps, and then I slipped the chemise clean off her torso.

Her skin was like some sort of rosy alabaster, almost glistening in the soft glow of the room lamps, yet flushed throughout her body. It was the first time I'd seen her so red. She tried to bury her face in my shoulder, but I didn't let her. I wanted to see her. I wanted to see my Kate.

She was, in one word, perfect, and that was a grievous understatement. There was no suitable word in the English language to describe her. I was utterly and completely mesmerized. My eyes skimmed from feature to feature, never lingering long enough for lust to overpower awe, almost as if I was afraid of defiling her — here a pale shoulder, there the slim turn of her hips, then the rich subtle shape of her breasts. She was a Greek goddess — no, she was the embodiment of all the goddesses. The logical beauty of Athena, the endearing jealousy of Hera, the passionate allure of Aphrodite. She was Kate, my goddess.

Almost shyly I moved my gaze back up to her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. I leaned in to kiss her.

"May I touch you?" I asked, still awestruck.

She nodded, a small embarrassed nod, but definite and without hesitation.

"I guess it hadn't been very fair," she added in a murmur,. "It was mostly me touching you tonight."

Trembling, I put my hands lightly on the sides of her breast.

We both gasped. I'd never felt something so incredibly soft. Slowly my fingers moved to map out the shape of them. They were so different than they appeared in my fantasy — not necessarily larger, but more exquisite and certainly much more beautiful than my coarse mind could ever have comprehended. The buds of her full-formed nipples poked out at just the right place, colored between rosy and swarthy, and around it a small ring of skin in that same hue. I was still in disbelief that she'd let me touch her at all, so I decided that they would have to wait.

I spent a good ten minutes just exploring the edges of her breasts, never once bored. Around the middle of that, Kate had started breathing faster, with little hissing sighs when my fingers accidentally brushed the border of that intricate ring of darker skin.

Then I remembered that she'd been kissing and licking all over my chest. I wanted to kiss her and lick her breasts too. I blushed, not really knowing how to ask such a question, but my mouth was at their level, and she must have felt my breath because she pushed them out ever so slightly, and said, "go on, Matt."

I kissed the side first, then tentatively reached out my tongue. Her skin had no taste, but the smell accounted for much more. Beyond the usual lavender-scented soap, there was the powerful heady fragrance of her new perfume, and something else, subtly pleasant but very difficult to pin down. I thought absently to myself it may be her phero-whatever.

I never actually ended up asking if I could touch her nipples. I just sort of did it with my tongue. She let out a louder, melodic moan, and I stopped.

She opened her eyes, the grey orbs lidded. "Do that again," she said.

So I did. Soon my fingers came into play, and she was shivering deliciously all over. I pushed her down onto the mattress and started to widen the area of my attention, going down as low as her waist, and as high as her neck. I no longer asked for permission, I was too eager. _No wonder she likes to kiss my chest_ , I thought idly, and went back to my fevered worship.

Finally Kate couldn't stand it any longer. With a few deft twists of her leg, she peeled her chemise down the rest of the way. I thought she might be embarrassed so I slipped out of my briefs as well, and she smiled shyly when she saw me uncovered for the first time, obviously fascinated. And just like that, we were naked. Together.

Hungrily, reverently, I studied the newly revealed part of her. She had a soft bush of dark auburn hair obscuring most details, but there were tantalizing spots of pink that peeked through. The general shape was similar to some of the lewd drawings I'd previously seen, yet infinitely more elegant and alluring.

I knew I had to touch her. I lifted my head. She was busy observing my arousal, a roseate glow all about her, but she noticed my almost-desperate gaze, and nodded.

I laid myself down in between her legs. It was the first time I'd smelled that magnificent tangy scent, musky and strong but not overbearing. She jolted when I laid my finger on her lips, and I did too.

"Kate," I said, wondrous. "It's wet!"

"Of _course_ it's wet," she panted. "Did you think you would fit there without lubrication?"

I knew I had to taste her. "I am going to kiss you," I declared.

"Wait —" she said, "Ma—ATT!"

I couldn't really describe what she tasted like. She was a bit salty, a bit sweet maybe, but again, the smell accounted for much more. My nose pressed right up to her, she smelled… luxurious… intricate… intoxicating. Like a peculiar make of wine with a light pleasant hint of cheese, mixed with the free summer air when we flew very low over the Pacificus.

I focused on familiarizing myself with her geography. I felt surreal, an explorer of some long lost Amazonian city in the rainforest, the place concentrated with so much _femininity_ that it made me dizzy. Everything was wonderfully wet, everything there for me to touch and taste, and with each new discovery all I could think about was, _this is my Kate_.

Somewhere during it all her hands latched on to my head, one grasping strands of hair, the other with fingers dug into my scalp. Her body convulsed and relaxed, moaned and panted, ebbing and flowing with my actions. Soon I discovered a small structure, just a nub, that never failed to garner a reaction, and I delighted in teasing her with it. I was slightly worried about her, but she hadn't told me to stop yet and her hand often pressed my head back down when I came up for air, so I thought she probably liked it.

Then I thought I wanted to see how wide she could stretch, and make sure I wouldn't hurt her later. I inserted a finger right into her. She gasped.

"How many could you fit?" I asked, my voice muffled. Her legs curled before they rested on my shoulders.

"I forgot," she said. "Matt, just — oh — OH." I'd gotten another finger in. It was starting to feel cramped already. No wonder she thought I would never fit.

"I want to help make it easier," I said, determined. "Tell me if it hurts."

She squirmed when I gently put in a third, but made no protest, only small pants interspersed with my name. I licked her, and she gave a little spasm.

"Kate, it's _supposed_ to fit, right? I'm not hurting you?"

"It's supposed to fit much more, Mr. Cruse," she said, panting. "Where do you think babies come out?"

I gaped at her. "You mean this is the same place — babies — but _how?_ " I remembered seeing my baby sisters. A baby's head would break her!

"That's why childbirth is the worst pain known to mankind. _Wo_ man-kind, that is. Why'd you stop?"

I shuddered. "My mother told me how hard it was, on an airship… but I never knew it was like this."

"Yes, men-folk rarely hear about it." Kate pressed my mouth into her. Her wall was clenching and writhing around my fingers, and I didn't think I could get another in her without causing pain, so I started licking again. "Ohh. But it's actually quite simple." She moaned. "You know what happens when you climax, right?"

"Y-yeah," I said, blushing.

"Basically I'm a one way street; your er — ohhh — your fluids, they go inside me, travel up into the wo-omb, and then some complicated things happen and a baby pops out the same way back. Ohhh."

"I knew all that!" I protested. "I just didn't know it came out the same way!"

"Well now you do — ooo."

Suddenly something struck me. "Kate, what if you get — what if —"

"Don't stop! And no, I won't get pregnant because I already," she panted, "already took precautions."

"What? Precautions? Like a French Letter?"

"No, something more — more elegant. Medication. I told you I spent weeks, planni —"

My tongue brushed against that same little spot of her, and she called out, temporarily incapable of speech. A veritable _flow_ of her juices rushed out. I gave a grunt of surprise as it got into my nose and mouth. It was slightly different than the surrounding wetness, but tasted the same.

"It's like water!" I said, amazed, and found suddenly that I could fit a fourth finger in her. "Kate, what happened —"

"Just. Keep. Going!" Kate said, almost in a growl. I still wanted to know what just happened to her, but she obviously wasn't in a mood to explain, so I kept at it. Her musk was all I could smell. I remembered when I was young, hearing about the stories of the Constellations always made me wonder what ambrosia tasted like. Well, now I knew.

Her panting grew more and more frantic. She had her eyes closed, and her hand applied constant pressure at the back of my head. I studied her like this, laid bare for me and only me, wanting to imprint this image of divinity in my mind. I was confused but proud, even as I continued to repeat the same motions with my tongue, throwing in a sprinkling of variety here and there with my lips and teeth. I came back every few seconds to that small nub, secretly excited and hoping she'd give me another flow. In response, she writhed, she moaned, she clawed.

She was beautiful. She was my Kate.

Then in the span of about twenty seconds it was over, heralded by a great flood that washed over me. I felt her legs clamp together, pinching me between her. She cried out and arched up, so I lost sight of her face, but her entire body was spasming and twisting, and then I heard my name, in a breathy pant, then in a moan, then so loud it was almost like a scream. Then she slumped back onto the mattress, limp and spent, and all her nectar ran down my mouth and cheeks and onto the mattress. Before I could look up again she tugged at my hair, pulling me up from her warm wet center, then she was kissing me so passionately and so furiously I almost pulled away in surprise.

"Matt," she said over and over again, back to the volume of a gushing whisper. "Matt, Matt."

"What just happened?" I asked in earnest, but she yanked me down for more kisses, and her fingers dug deep into my back as she pulled me flat against her, skin luxuriously against skin.

Then she grabbed _me_ ; the hard part of me. I had been aroused all this time, but Kate was so mesmerizing I'd completely forgotten about my own desire. Her warm palm sent sparks flying in me all over again. At first I thought she simply wanted to touch me like earlier, but her hand moved with irrefutable purpose to her core.

Panic rose in me. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"It's okay, Matt," she said. "I'm ready. We're ready."

"But you'll get hurt and —"

Another smoldering kiss. She bit my lips, gently, to stop me from pulling away, and at the same time she guided me, throbbing and sensitive, to where my mouth had been just moments before. I felt impossibly dizzy.

"I want to look at you," she said, soft but serious.

I pushed myself up a little so she could. With her one hand holding on to my arousal, her other hand found purchase at the small of my back, and she tugged. Her eyes were fixated upon my face, and then I felt the tip of me slip past her outer lips.

"Come on," she said, not giving me time to adjust to the mind-numbing sensory overload that was being dumped into my brain. She was incredibly, incomprehensibly wet from earlier. She tugged at my back again, and I felt a tighter gate of sorts, another barrier of resistance.

I didn't understand much of anything that was going on. I was supposed to have done this before, but right now every single moment was new. I was trembling all over, feeling like my heart would explode. Kate tugged again, more insistent, and with a wet plop I slipped past those gates into a wholly different warmth and softness.

Kate let out a mew of pain. I looked down at her, concerned, but she was smiling in the middle of the frown.

"All that mental preparation," she panted. "And in the end it didn't even hurt that much. How do you feel?"

"I don't know," I said. I was trying not to faint. "I — it's _tight_. How do _you_ feel? Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

"Yeah. I feel… full. Stuffed." She smiled, clearly awestruck. "But you're _inside_ me, Matt."

"What… what should I do now?"

"Try to get farther in."

"Like thi—"

"Not so fast!"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just — give me time to adjust."

"Right. I — I need that too."

"Okay. A little more, now. I'm sorry, Matt."

"What? Why?"

"I'm sure you want to move."

"No, I don't," I said, still completely breathless. I was already so stimulated that moving would surely send me right over the edge. "It feels too… much. Sensitive. Are you alright?"

Her eyes twinkled. "I'm completely surrounded by you; I'm more than alright. A little more, now."

"Okay," I said, carefully sinking deeper into her. The sensation was a million times stronger than before. The pleasure was like a coiled spring, waiting just beneath the surface, every slight movement threatening to set it loose.

We repeated this process a few times before my hips met hers, and we both realized I was now completely inside her; she had enveloped all of me, and I was wholly hers. We panted together. She brushed sweat from my forehead. I felt myself twitching. It was so warm and so _right_ , I thought I could stay like this all my life. I leaned on my elbows, so as to not crush her underneath me.

"Matt, I… I'm so happy."

"I am too. I didn't think it would — feel — so…"

"It's better than I imagined. You're _inside_ me," she repeated, a wondrous smile on her face. "Try to move a little?"

I did, pulling out a little bit and going back in. We both gasped. It wasn't just where we were joined, it was everything from us rubbing against each other, to the warmth of our bodies, to the perspiration on our skins. I bit my lip to keep the pleasure in check.

"Again," she said, breathless.

I obeyed. A drop of sweat slid down my forehead to the tip of my nose, and dripped onto her breasts. I twitched inside of her. She let out a rolling, gasping groan. I repeated the motion. Once more, twice, thrice. And before either of us was fully aware of what was happening, we were in the throes of making love.

I tried very hard to pace myself. The pleasure would come roaring dangerously close to the surface every half a dozen thrusts or so, forcing me to pause abruptly. She understood, so she did her best to stay still during bouts like these, gently gripping my back and running kisses across my chest. Then the peak would pass, and we would start moving again.

We instructed each other throughout the process, little phrases like 'faster', or 'not so hard', or 'do that again', interspersed with all the sounds we never knew the other to be capable of making. I had to use my elbows to prop myself up most of the time, so my hands could only reach her hair and face, but her own never stayed still — here pinching, there tickling, then coming back to caress. We both enjoyed using our mouths as well, and our torsos were soon a slick messy sheen of sweat and saliva. Neither of us minded.

Then it pretty much ended when she discovered she could clench herself in time with my thrusts. I cried out when she did that for the first time, bucking. She gave me a grin and did it again, her eyes lidded as she watched me tremble. I twitched inside of her.

She then dragged me flat onto her, grunting as my weight settled on her.

"Close?" she asked, pulling at the small of my back.

I moaned in response. She nibbled softly at my neck. I thought she would stay still, like usual, but there was a slight pain as her fingernails scratched at my back. Then she clenched herself below, bit down on my shoulder, and gripped my bum and _pulled_.

My eyes widened in surprise, then squeezed shut. The triple stimulation was too much, and I started going over. Every one of my muscles tensed, and my breathing got choked. Kate's nails raked down my back, trying somehow to get me even deeper, even though I was already buried up to the hilt. I let out a throaty moan, and then the dam fully broke.

The first massive wave of pleasure knocked me near senseless. I was no longer aware of anything besides the eruption of stored tension. Even with my eyes closed I saw white stars. More waves came, rush after rush like a relentless assault, and I held on to Kate as my body shook, again and again in time with each burst of me that went straight into her. I was groaning, grunting, whimpering, but none of it mattered. I was marginally aware of her nails digging into me, but that didn't matter either.

"Mo spéir," I whispered when it was finally, _finally_ over. It was what my father called my mother, and it just blurted out in that moment of complete unguarded… _love_. My body was still tingling, and I remained hard and twitching inside her, but I was _exhausted_. I laid on top of her, panting, not wanting to move a single inch.

When I opened my eyes, it took me a second to focus on her serious face. For a moment all we could do was stare at each other. Then the sides of her lips slowly rose, and I felt mine do the same, and then we were both chuckling, laughing, tiredly but genuinely laughing, marveling at how close together we were, at how well our bodies fitted together, at what we'd just accomplished together.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Yes," she said.

We took a breath together, feeling the way our chests pressed into each other. I felt her nipples graze my skin, and the sensation was comfortably intimate.

And then I felt laughter at the base of my lungs again, and as it burst out, she started too. We kissed some more. She stroked my back, and I cupped her face. I was no longer as hard as before, but she still felt warm and full.

"Wow," I said when we finally stopped laughing. "I… wow."

We smiled stupidly at each other. Her gaze was clear and bright as the haze of lust dissipated, and sweat drenched her auburn locks, and she looked more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.

"You were brilliant," she said softly. "Thank you."

My eyes widened, and I blushed.

"You were brilliant as well," I muttered. "I don't think I have ever felt this happy in my life."

"Me, too," she said, trembling. "I'm so happy, it hurts."

I knew exactly what she meant. Joy coursed in my heart, as sharp and crisp as the winter air outside, threatening to burst, and it was such a pure, massive torrent, such a heart-wrenching emotion, that it bordered on painful. There were all sorts of strange and wonderful scents of her, of me, of _us_ , all of which formed a potent cocktail that spoke of lust, passion, and intimacy. If love were to have a smell, this must be it.

We laid together in blissful languor for some time. I was softer and slipped out of her, and we both sighed wistfully at the lost contact. Then an idle question came to me in my muddled brain, something I'd been wondering about for a while now. In retrospect it seemed perfectly clear, but I still wanted to make sure.

"Hey, Kate." My chin was resting on her shoulder. "When I was, um, kissing you below, did you…"

She took a second to respond, smiled lazily. "You mean, did I climax?" I nodded, and she pecked my cheek. "Of course I did."

"No one told me what would happen when a girl climaxed," I said, sheepish. "So I wasn't sure." Then I looked at her. "I want to do that for you again."

"The… below? But it's so _messy_ ," she said, abashed. "It got everywhere over your face! I felt really bad."

"I enjoyed it," I told her. "I liked your taste. I liked watching you climax."

She blushed beautifully. "I liked watching you, too. I kind of hoped we would climax together, actually."

"Is that possible?" I asked, excited by the prospect. "I thought I had to kiss you below —"

"No, no," she laughed. "I just need stimulation, doesn't matter what form. I was almost there just now, but you went over first."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I tried to last as long —"

She put a finger on my lips. "Shh. I know you did." Then she looked thoughtful. "I'm sure we can do it, if only we paced ourselves."

"Do it?"

"You know… climax together?" The thoughtful expression was quickly replaced by a dark desirous gleam. "Want to try? You feel like you've recovered."

"Okay," I breathed, throbbing powerfully. She smiled briefly before kissing me.

This time, with the process fresh in our minds, we knew what to do. We still touched each other, but all of it felt a little rushed with the anticipation of rejoining ourselves. We were both intrigued and more than eager.

"What are you doing?" she said, when I moved down.

"Er. The same thing I did before?"

Her grey eyes were bright and impatient. "I told you, I don't need it."

"Won't it hurt if I don't —"

"No. Come back up here."

"Are you su—" I began, but she gripped my bum and made an anxious sound that was half plead and half command. I felt myself burning up. In a fluid movement she wrapped her legs around me, and I entered her, this time completely and all at once. No more barriers.

We sighed together, like going back to a cozy place we had left not long ago. We kissed some more, then she pressed her palm against the small of my back, which I'd already learned to recognize as her sign telling me to move. So I did.

There was barely any talking this time around. We communicated through sounds, movements, expressions. All the same, we failed in achieving our goal — along the way I was a little too eager with my hands, and she finished earlier than we both would've liked, moaning and with her fingernails clawing at my back.

Not to be outdone, she pushed me off her once she regained control of herself. For a moment I thought she was actually angry, but then she gave me a smile, laid herself flat on top of me, and coaxed me back inside. Suddenly it was _her_ doing the moving. The change in position was so exhilarating, I barely had time to enjoy it before I was driven violently over the edge. Her lips never left mine as I groaned and spasmed, and she kept moving even while I rode out the remainder of my climax.

"Where… where did you learn _that?_ " I panted against her lips, then hissed in surprise. She was _still_ moving, both her hips and the inside of her. "Ah-ah. D-don't. I'm s-sensit-tive! _Kate!_ "

"Shh, I'm trying to see what this does to you," she said, equal parts fascination and lust. To my dismay she continued to gyrate herself, and the stimulation was altogether overwhelming. It was almost like torture, even more so because she ignored all my pleas and pinned my arms to my side. Finally, when I stopped shuddering, she kissed me again and grinned.

"That," I panted, too tired to kiss her back, "was _cruel_."

"It's what you get for making me climax first."

"I'm sorry," I said breathily, feeling her fingers tickle my flank. "I really thought it wouldn't push you over."

"Oh well. I guess if we could try a second time, we could easily do a third," she said, her cheeks turning rosy. "I have no qualms against that."

I stared at her, astonished — it hasn't even been two minutes, and I was still inside her!

"Again?" I shook my head, abashed. "I'm sorry, but I — I don't think I can. Not right away."

"Oh, not right now, you silly! I'm just saying, we could try as many times as we want, until we get it right."

"Oh," I said, then blushed heavily. _As many times as we want_.

"You lecher," she teased, having seen right through me.

I looked away from her in embarrassment. She laughed and combed her hand through my sweat-drenched hair. I closed my eyes and breathed in that scent of us, feeling utterly content.

Of course, being two teenagers, and having just discovered a whole new continent of ecstasy, quiet moments didn't last long. Soon I felt Kate wriggle on top of me and giving my chest a tiny nibble. Even after everything, the sensuous softness of her stirred me up with ease. "Hey, Matt, are you asleep?" she asked.

I turned to her and rolled my eyes — I knew she had felt me getting hard.

She smiled. "Third time's the charm?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

1\. Google _Fanny Hill_ if you don't know what that is. Most definitely NSFW.

2\. Contraception in the early 1910s was limited to crude physical means like sponges or uncomfortable-looking condoms. I thought "the pill" wouldn't be too far-fetched given the setting of Darwinism (See my crossover fic, Wagers of War and Peace).

3\. A French Letter was euphemism for a condom, chiefly during WWI. In French it was called the capote anglais, or the English Hood.


	2. Have (Kate)

**Author's Notes:**

 **Day after the couple's first night. Again, these 2 chapters are not meant to be standalone.**

* * *

I opened my eyes, momentarily stunned by the sunlight streaming in.

Then I blinked, and his sleeping face came into focus. His chestnut hair shone gold under the rays, and his mouth was slightly open in an endearing way. His right arm was pinned under my pillow, and his left was draped loosely over me. My own were in between our bodies, feeling the warmth radiating off him.

For a minute I just laid still and listened to his even breathing. Reverberating inside me was something I'd been used to, but here and now, it became a churning ache of emotions more torrential than I'd ever experienced.

In a single moment of clarity, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life waking up next to him. It was a powerful, enveloped feeling, something often thought of but never said — not even last night during the most passionate moments, or in the intimate silence of post-climactic languor.

But thousands of miles away from my parents, secluded in his arms and the quiet privacy of my bed, guarded by all the walls and curtains around us… I felt safe enough to whisper.

"I love you."

I blushed, immediately shy though he wasn't even awake to hear it. I decided I would cherish that small whisper for myself. Until we were ready, and strong enough that the world couldn't tear us apart, it would be nestled in a special place in my heart, where no one could touch it.

I kissed him, running my hand down his sticky torso. I let my lips follow the new but already well-travelled path; from lips to jaw, jaw to neck, neck to collarbone, collarbone to chest. Then I traced the subtle line of hair from his navel down, and found him hard. I knew it wasn't due to any arousal on his part, but natural for a boy's physiological function.

I'd become quite familiar with that region of him, but all the same I blushed as I took him in my hand. The shape and solidity sent a small wave of warmth and wetness between my legs, a pleasant soreness and memory of previous contact. For a moment I wondered what his reaction would be if he woke to find us already making love.

But he remained deep in slumber despite my fondling, only shifting slightly from time to time. I let go of him and brushed back strands of his damp hair, apologetic — our enthusiasm had seemed unfailing last night, and he'd recovered so quickly each time, I couldn't help but ask more of him over and over. He had to be exhausted. It wouldn't be very considerate of me to wake him up now.

In the end I simply snuggled deeper into his arms, enjoying the tranquility and respite. His breath tickled my forehead.

I almost drifted back to sleep when idly I glanced at the small clock atop my desk.

It was just past nine in the morning.

Morning. Of the next day.

Oh no!

 _Marjorie!_

I freed myself from his arms and jumped out of the covers, the colder air sending a shiver through me. Matt shifted behind me from the sudden movement, but stayed asleep. I stumbled off the bed, grabbed my bathrobe from the floor, and rushed out of my room barefooted.

Instantly, to the left of the hallway, I heard a great snore.

She was back.

"Oh _no_ ," I said aloud. When had she returned? The opera had been at nine, and it had been a Wagner — a drawn-out affair of endurance. She likely stayed there until well past one. Then, given common courtesy, her beau had probably escorted her back. But all that added together and she _had_ to have returned no later than three in the morning.

I'd no idea when Matt and I had fallen asleep. It was entirely possible we'd been awake when she came home. I hope we hadn't been loud. Or if she'd gone into my room to check on me… My face paled as I imagined the possibilities.

Oh, I was so _stupid_. My original plan gave us a five hour window that overlapped with the running length of the opera. Matt could've easily been safely out of the house by then, but we ended up getting swept away by our curiosity and desires.

 _Okay, Kate. This isn't time to panic._

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. Marjorie was asleep, so I had time to reconstruct the events. Slowly my frozen brain started to function. It was likely Marjorie had come home extremely tired — who wouldn't be, after a Wagner? — and she was inclined to be careless. She probably hadn't thought to check my room. In which case all was well.

But that was the best case scenario. I grimaced at the alternative — either she'd checked after we'd fallen asleep, or we'd been loud enough that she didn't have to. No matter what, we would have a mountain of explanation to do, and Matt would probably be banned from the house for life.

The silver lining, I suppose, was that my parents would never find out. After all… allowing her charge to sleep with a boy, right under her nose? She would be promptly dismissed, and no one would _ever_ hire her again. I almost smiled if I weren't already mortified.

In any event I thought it necessary to plan for the worst. Quietly, I shuffled my way to Marjorie's room. Her door was slightly ajar, and I snuck inside.

She was almost fully clothed, her dress from last night crumpled and creased with sleep. This was promising — she had been too tired to undress properly, so maybe she'd been too tired to check on me. I snuck out, locked my room with my key just in case, and came back to her. I had to find out whether or not she knew, and it was best to accost someone when they were groggy.

I took a deep breath and started shaking her.

"Marjorie, Marjorie!" I shouted to drown her snore. "Wake up!"

She shuffled around, mumbled something, before her arms flailed about and almost hit me. I shook her some more, and finally she opened her eyes.

"Kate?" she said, groaning at me. "Not now. My head hurts something terrible."

"Marjorie, you're sleeping in your dress!" I said, and yanked her arm.

She gave a yelp, and then looked down. Instantly she bolted upright.

"Oh heavens!" she trilled, aghast. She slid herself off her bed, rushing over to the mirror. "Oh, heavens. Kate, help me out of this!"

I smiled. This didn't seem like the reactions of someone who'd found out. Just to be sure, I asked, "When did you come home last night?"

"I don't know, at some ungodly hour," she replied absently, frowning at her hair. "I look appalling!"

"I didn't hear you," I said as I unlaced her dress. "You should at least let me know!"

"You were sound asleep anyway," she said dismissively. "I didn't want to wake you."

 _Here it comes_. "How did you know I was asleep?" I asked, feigning nonchalance. "Did you come in my room?" My hands betrayed me, however, and pulled a little hard on her dress.

"Kate! Gently!" she said, hissing. "And what could you possibly be doing besides sleeping at that time? I hardly needed to check."

"Are you sure you didn't come to check?"

"No," she said again, and fixed me a stern look through the mirror. "You _know_ your room has been a frightful mess ever since you gave all the maids a vacation. I didn't want to step on whatever ghastly things you keep in there, like _specimens_ , or prick my foot on one of your slides, or some _bone_ , for goodness' sake." She shuddered.

"Yes, yes," I said, breathing out an explosive sigh of relief. She eyed me strangely, and I changed the topic. "How is your headache? Did you and monsieur-what's-his-name drink last night?"

"Rémy," she said, taking my bait. She turned rosy for a moment, but then she rubbed her temples and winced.

"I would wager a yes," I said. "Shall I make you tea?"

"Whether or not we drank is none of your business." She raised an eyebrow as she tugged at her corset. "I should return the favor, young lady, and ask how it went with our young Mr. Cruse."

"What? I wasn't —"

"Oh, please," she said. "I knew the moment you gave me those tickets. It's unlike you to be so generous otherwise."

I gave her a sheepish smile. "You caught me out."

"Don't think I haven't got my eyes on you two," she warned as she yanked on a string on her corset. "So, how did it go last night? Was it any fun?"

In spite of the situation, my mind derailed and went right into the depths of depravity. _Oh, it was more than fun_ , I thought as I remembered the feeling of him inside me. Hurriedly I fixated myself on a particular disgusting specimen I'd seen at the University, hoping to stem my blush. I took a deep breath.

"It went… alright," I said strategically. "We ate, we danced, he took me home."

Fortunately her attention was elsewhere and my little episode went unnoticed. "Always the gentleman, I see," she said with a small sniff as she examined the marks her pillow had left on her face. "Be that as it may, manners do not trump birth."

I rolled my eyes. "Marjorie —"

"It's only for your own good, young lady. If you don't mind me saying so —"

"I _do_ mind, but that's never stopped you."

She harrumphed. " — you should have called it off when you two had that little row a month ago. Speaking of which, why won't you tell me what you fought about?"

"Because it was none of your business," I replied, my voice rapidly cooling. Marjorie fluffed her hair, unperturbed.

"Well, suit yourself. But you should know you'd never have a future together. That boy is beneath you."

The whisper I hid away this morning came pouncing out, ferocious and enraged. I yanked the ends of her corset back together. "He has a name," I seethed. "He is beneath _no one_."

"Fine, fine," she said, her voice strained. "Kate — I'm sorry, okay? Please untie the darned thing."

I glared at her before I freed her from the piece of clothing. She sighed in relief. "Go back to sleep, Marjorie. I'll fix you a draught."

"Oh, would you?" she trilled. "It's in my dresser, third drawer."

"Sometimes I think _I'm_ your chaperone," I muttered as she made her unsteady way back into bed. I found the bottle of her medication, and vindictively gave her the maximum dose. I wanted her knocked out all day.

"Thank you, dear," she said as she gulped down the mixture with a large glass of water. Then she crawled into the sheets and was snoring again in less than ten seconds.

 _Finally_ , I thought, feeling slightly weak in the knees. But the toughest part was behind me, and Marjorie likely won't wake until late afternoon. I smiled as I thought back to the boy sleeping on my bed. Maybe when he woke he'd be sufficiently refreshed for me to have my way with him once more.

Just then my stomach gave a loud growl of protest, and only then did I notice how famished I was.

And why wouldn't I be? We'd skipped dinner altogether. Briefly I wondered if we'd been blacklisted by the restaurant for a no-show. A small sacrifice for last night to happen.

I was about to ring the bell for some breakfast when I remembered the house was empty. I shrugged and strode downstairs to the kitchen and pantry, wolfed down some bread and cheese I found in one of the cupboards, and ate an apple that was sitting on the counter.

Then I saw the little tray the maids used to bring me my breakfast; usually eggs, sausage, ham, and grilled tomatoes, piping hot when it got to my room, with fresh orange juice to wash it all down. I sighed wistfully. Another small sacrifice for last night.

But wait… Matt had to be hungry, too. Maybe _I_ could fix him something.

The thought thrilled me, like I was some housewife preparing a meal. Mummy would think it dreadfully working-class, I'm sure, but I've never done anything remotely like this for him, and I suddenly wanted to see his reaction. I looked around the kitchen, then back at myself. I tied my bathrobe tight around myself, and rolled up the sleeves. There's a first for everything, right?

I approached the whole affair all zeal and no skill. I took out the rest of the bread, found a pan, and rummaged around for some butter. There were eggs, too, and I broke four messily and spent about ten minutes fishing little pieces of shell from the bowl. I looked around. What else? There was a string of ham hung up in a corner, and I hacked a chunk off, not quite knowing how to work a knife. There were tomatoes sitting in a crate, too, so I picked one that didn't feel too soft, and sliced the thing in half.

All preliminary preparations complete, I turned eagerly to the stove. I never really used one before, so wasn't entirely sure how it functioned, but it couldn't possibly be more difficult than a high-powered microscope. I fiddled about with the valves until I understood their purpose. Then I saw some very long matches sitting conveniently in a corner. It took several tries, and there was one terrifying moment where I thought I would surely blow the whole thing apart, but in the end I managed to get the right timing with the gas and the match, and fire roared to life.

I gave myself a little whoop. Then I put the iron pan on the stove, dumped in some butter, and poured in all the eggs. Of course I wasn't remotely prepared for the speed at which it cooked, and the end result might have been a tiny bit overdone before I scrambled to take the pan away.

But it was _done_. I gave myself another congratulatory whoop. I stood a second to admire my handiwork, before dumping too much pepper and salt on the whole thing. Nonetheless I thought it tasted quite satisfactory, and gave myself a hearty pat on the back as I put it away on a plate. The pan went back on the stove, and I threw on the halves of the tomatoes. They sizzled mightily, which alarmed me a little, so I managed to extinguish the flames, and get them out of the pan with a spatula I fished out from somewhere.

I was studying my haphazard piece of ham when I heard a confused sound.

"Kate! Someone's… what are you doing?"

I whirled around. Matt was behind me, his hair tousled and his eyes wide. He was almost fully dressed, with his trousers and shirt back on him. In his haste he must have skipped a button somewhere, and the hem of his shirt hung adorably uneven.

"Good morning," I said, putting down the hunk of ham. "I was hoping you'd stay asleep until I finished."

He shook his head. "Someone's home!" he said urgently. "Kate, you need to let me out!"

"Calm down. It's just Marjorie."

" _Miss Simpkins?_ She's back? She _knows_ about this?" he turned bright red.

"Heavens, no," I said, laughing. "I made sure of that. She's sound asleep, and will be for quite a while."

I went over and sat him down in a kitchen chair. Then I told him about the snooping around I'd done this morning, and slowly he began to relax.

"Oh," he said when I finished. "That scared me."

"Believe me, I know." I handed him a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully. "Why are you dressed anyway?"

"Well, I woke up and you weren't around, and I heard something through the door."

"Snoring, I bet."

He was still somewhat shaken, but smiled a little at this. "Right. Naturally I thought I was about to be discovered, so I just threw on my clothes and rushed out."

"I can tell," I smirked, gesturing at him. "Your buttons are all wrong."

"What?" he said, and looked down. Sheepishly he started to redo them. I kissed him, then I pushed his hands away and undid his buttons altogether.

"Just so you know, I prefer you _un_ dressed." I ran my hand briefly over his torso. "But for now you should get back to bed and wait there."

"Wait? What for, exactly?" He looked around, squinting suspiciously at the piece of ham, the tomatoes, and the plate of eggs. "Kate, you're not… cooking, are you?"

"Of course I am."

He blinked in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely. In fact, if you can, I want you to go back to sleep and forget about all this. That way I can bring it up to you in a tray, and wake you up with a kiss."

"But, but you've never cooked a day in your life! Are you sure you're fine by yourself?"

I narrowed my nostrils. "Why do you sound so skeptical?"

"I'm being practical," he said. "What if the house catches on fire?"

I pinched him. He smiled and hugged me close. We shared a few kisses before his stomach growled. We looked at each other and laughed.

"It's almost ready," I said, pushing him to the door. "Go on, get back into bed. I promise not to burn down the house."

He tried to protest, but was no match for my determination, and off he went grumbling about me being bossy. I grinned and shook my head before turning my attention back to the ham.

At this point it was way too much effort to relight the stove (and I had to admit, Matt _did_ have a point), so in the end I chopped the ham into uneven smallish chunks, sprinkled it all over the eggs, and pronounced myself done. Humming, I put everything onto plates and set them as neat as I could on the tray. I had not the faintest ideal how to make orange juice, so I poured another large glass of water and took the whole thing upstairs.

Matt was not in bed when I entered. Instead he had the curtain half drawn, and was staring out the window with a sort of contented far-off look.

"What's got your fancy?" I asked. He jumped, but relaxed when he saw me ambling towards him with the tray.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just… I still can't quite believe it."

"Believe what? That I made you breakfast?"

He laughed. "Among other things. Mainly that I'm here with you at all. I'm still waking up, I think."

"Well you'd better believe it, because I wouldn't mind eating this for myself." I beckoned to him. "Come on. Why are you not ready?"

"Coming, coming," he said, quickly climbing into bed. He looked at me expectantly. "You'll be joining me, I hope?"

"I already ate," I told him as I set the tray down, but still crawled in and snuggled to his side. It wasn't exactly the perfect situation I'd hoped for, but he beamed at me and held me close, which made everything worth it.

The moment lasted until he looked down at the tray. Then he started laughing.

"Really, Kate?"

"What?" I said indignantly, examining my handiwork. Everything looked… edible, at the very least. He should be more forgiving towards an absolute beginner!

"This," he said, still chuckling as he held up a single butter knife. It was the only utensil I'd put on the tray.

"Oh." I said stupidly. I could've _sworn_ I put in a fork. "Oh gosh. I — I'll go get—"

His hand tightened on my waist. "It's alright," he said. "Stay with me." He gave me a lopsided grin and pierced a chunk of egg and ham with the knife. "See?"

With a mock flourish he put the food in his mouth. Before I knew it, he'd swallowed the bite.

"You're supposed to savor it!" I complained. Then more nervously: "How… how was it?"

"Very salty, and only slightly burnt," he said with another flourish of the knife. "In other words, you've exceeded my expectations. Well done, Ms. de Vries."

"Matt!" I tickled him, and he wriggled away, laughing. "That actually took a lot of effort!"

"I guess it _is_ quite remarkable for a first timer," he conceded. "And the ham is a nice touch." Then he bent down and kissed me, his tongue tasting of burnt egg. "Thank you," he said softly.

He finished the eggs with no more complaint, albeit with plenty of water. I watched him quietly as he ate, feeling inordinately proud for such a mediocre fair. He looked somewhat doubtful at the two halves of barely-cooked tomatoes, but shrugged and ate them anyway. Then he tore at the bread and cheese, and finished them too, until finally he gave a satisfied little sigh and laid back on the headboard.

"Say that wasn't delicious," I quipped as I took the tray from him and set it on the floor.

"Of course it was," he replied. "My compliments to the chef." He kissed my cheek, but then he sighed. "I suppose I should leave before she wakes up again." He gestured in the general direction of the faintly audible snores.

"Oh, Marjorie?" I smiled. "Don't worry — she won't be bothering us for quite a while."

"Got another opera ticket lying around somewhere?"

"No. I dosed her with sleeping draught."

His mouth fell open. "You did not."

"I certainly did. The opportunity was difficult to pass up."

He was still gape-mouthed, but slowly a grin spread on his face. "So you _did_ drug her, after all."

"I didn't _drug_ her," I said. "I aided her sleep."

"Right. Like you 'aided' the exotic ashy flavor of those eggs."

I elbowed him and he laughed. I cleared my throat.

"Anyway," I said, "She'll be out of commission for the next five or six hours, at least. We, uh… we have the whole morning to ourselves." A blush crept up to my cheeks.

"Ah," he said, matching my redness. "I suppose we do. Is there anything you had in mind?"

I blushed harder.

"As a matter of fact, there is. Um… remember how you wanted to shower last night?" My voice became tiny. "Think you can do with a bath instead?"

ooo

We found ourselves suddenly shy as we stood in my spacious bathroom. Perhaps the morning had swept away all sense of mystique and enchantment. The purple dress still laid on the floor in a heap, crumpled and ruined, but I paid it no heed. It was funny how something I'd been so concerned about just half a day ago was now of zero consequence to me.

We shuffled cautiously to the large bath tub, where we paused and looked at each other. Slowly he shrugged off his shirt and pulled down his trousers, putting them in a neat little pile on the counter. I loosened my bathrobe a little, trying — and failing — to not ogle him. We smiled tentatively at each other, uncharacteristically timid, almost as if last night had never happened.

"We're being silly," I said finally. "I mean, there's nothing we haven't already seen."

Inhaling, I let my robe fall to the ground.

He gasped, and stared at me for a few seconds in that almost innocent, unabashed awe. I gave him an embarrassed glare.

"Sorry," he stammered, and hurried to pull down his own briefs. His half-aroused form sprung out.

It was my turn to stare. I hadn't exactly gotten a close look of him last night, and I was fascinated. Fortunately, I caught myself after a few moments, and looked up almost the same time he did.

We both froze, then grinned. And simple as that, the strange barrier of self-consciousness melted away.

I turned on the faucet, and we stepped into the tub. It was winter, and despite having the latest gas heating model, the water took some minutes to warm. We took the time to play around, flicking icy water at each other. Miraculously our lust remained mostly shelved away — I knew it wouldn't stay that way, but it was nice to enjoy a moment like this with him.

Still laughing, we sat down on the edge of the tub after the temperature became tolerable. I tossed Matt a spare bar of soap. He sniffed at it and beamed.

"What?" I asked as I began to slather myself.

"It's your smell," he replied happily. "Lavender."

Embarrassed, I smeared the white foam over his shoulders.

He winced in surprise. I smirked and did it again, but this time he hissed and actually flinched.

"Matt?"

"It smarts," he said, frowning. He turned his back to me. "Can you take a look?"

Instantly I blushed. Across his skin were numerous scratch marks in various shades of red, some shallow and barely visible, some deeper and almost inflamed. A few had been deep enough to draw blood, barely scabbed over, with tiny dots of blackened clot arranged in savage lines. My soapy hand had brushed over one such line where the skin had yet to heal.

"Well?" he asked, glancing curiously back at me.

"It — there are… erm… scratch marks."

"Huh? Scratch marks?"

"From… from me. I scratched you." I said in a small voice.

"Oh. I remember you doing that." He grinned a little, a reddish tinge on his face. Gingerly he reached a hand back and caressed one of the welts. "Hmm, it's not even that bad. I guess the pain just surprised me."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm not hurt," he scoffed. "Plus, it's just a part of the whole thing, so you shouldn't fuss over it."

"What whole thing? You don't mean… lovemaking?" He nodded, and I almost wanted to laugh. "Oh, Matt."

"Wait, it's not?" he looked confused. "I thought it's kind of unavoidable."

"Gosh, no! I only did it because _she_ did it."

The comment blurted out like a reflex before I could stop it. It wasn't exactly spiteful or jealous, but it wasn't pleasant, either. Only then did I realize I was bothered by the issue — or that it had been an issue at all. He froze. Slowly he put his soap down.

I felt a pang of guilt. We'd been through too much to let this get between us. I gave him a quick smile to show him I wasn't upset, and he relaxed a little. I resolved to talk about the issue honestly and rationally — we'd made a promise to be up front, and I wasn't about to break it.

"I think it has always been on my mind," I said, organizing my thoughts. "Details about that night, I mean. I couldn't help but remember the way she left scratches, or the way she said she bit you. Seeing you marked like that, like she _owned_ you… it probably left an impression. So I guess I wanted to leave my mark too. I wanted to show that you're mine and no one can steal you from me ever again."

I stopped and breathed. His skin glistened with water from the bath, but the bites and scratches were still visible. He looked down at the largest of them, a mark on his shoulder.

I wondered if he thought me petty. Just when I began to worry whether he would ever say anything, he touched the red skin of the bite and met my gaze.

"You don't have to compete with her," he said, his blue eyes serious. "I'm yours."

The simple statement sent a fuzzy tingle down my spine. Inside of me, the small whisper shined as warm as my personal sun.

"What can I say?" I murmured. "I'm just competitive by nature."

He grinned. "I can attest to that."

I kissed him, and his kiss back was dominant and needy. I brushed my fingers through his hair. The water sloshed around as our soapy skins slid against each other.

"I'm sorry, Matt," I said when we finally parted. "I thought it would be like a switch — that once we made love I would no longer be bothered by the dreadful jealousy. Last night, I thought it was gone for good, but apparently I still have it in me. I'm just so… disappointed in myself." I sighed.

He put his hand around my waist. "You're not alone. I think some part of me will never forgive myself for what happened, and sometimes when we're kissing, I worry that you'll just bolt off again and I will be all alone. I get… scared. That I won't be good enough for you, and some other fellow will come and snatch you away."

"You're a fool," I said. "I'm yours."

He drew me closer, and I put my forehead on his slick chest. I thought I could hear his heartbeat. Gently I reached a hand round his back and let my fingertips fall, feeling the lines on his skin.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No," he said. Then he laughed, a gentle hum in his frame. "To be honest, I didn't even mind it all that much."

"Really?"

"Not in the least, actually. You needn't have gone through all that apologizing."

I recognized a shyness in his voice, and looked up. "Matt. Don't tell me you actually… liked it?"

He blushed. "I… Maybe? A little?"

A smile formed slowly on my lips. "Honest?"

"Um. I mean — it — it's kind of… exciting."

"Exciting? Tell me more."

He blushed even harder. "I kind of took it as p-proof… that you, um… enjoyed it."

I paused a little, thinking about this. "I suppose that's true." My smile grew. "Can I do it in the future, then? Not all the time — just… when I really enjoy it."

He nodded, too embarrassed to look at me.

Suddenly amorous, I quickly rinsed us off with pails and tugged his arm. He understood, and we slipped into the tub together. It was a tight fit, but he sat behind me with his arms around my waist, his chest slick against my shoulders. At the small of my back I felt him standing at attention, which was exactly what I'd hoped for.

It was somewhat tricky to move in that situation, but we managed to find a position with a lot of experimenting and giggling. When we finally got it right, the water was half gone from all the splashing, and I turned the faucet back on until we were both submerged to our shoulders.

It went much slower than any of our endeavors last night, filled with plenty of lengthy kisses, lazy half-touches, and soft licks. We moved in small bursts, inching together toward the finish line, but sometimes we just breathed together and enjoyed the hot water and each other. When he finally went over, he did something with his fingers, and I joined him.

It was an intense release for both of us, perhaps from all that build up. We clung to each other, and I felt our waves almost in unison. My mind went blank for a moment as I panted his name.

When vision returned, I saw him beaming at me.

"We did it!" he said with boyish wonder. He touched his nose to mine. "We climaxed together."

"Yes, thanks to you." I smiled. "Honestly, it's baffling how we never got the timing right last night, despite trying so many times. It seems so simple now."

"We learned a lot about each other," he said, shrugging.

"I look forward to learning more," I said. Then something he'd said popped out in my mind. "In fact, before I forget again, what does 'mo spare' mean?"

He blinked at me, confused.

"Mo spare. You said it last night when you climaxed, and again just now. I've been meaning to ask you, but we got, er, distracted."

"Oh! You mean mo spéir." He seemed flustered. "It — um. It's a… nickname, I suppose."

"A nickname? For me?" He nodded, and I snorted. "That's absurd! I reject being called a _spare_."

"Not a spare," he said. "Spéir. It means 'sky'. Mo spéir means 'My sky'."

My breath caught. All of a sudden he blushed handsomely and ferociously, and buried his face in my shoulder. I patted his back, trembling.

"Is it an Eirish saying?" I asked softly.

"It's Gaelic, yes," he said, his voice muffled. "It's… what my father called my mother. I don't know, when I climax I feel so _close_ to you, and there's not really anything to convey that, so I just… said it."

That was when I found myself crying. Not exactly of joy, but it was a good kind of crying nonetheless. He noticed and looked up.

"I'm sorry!" he said hurriedly, instantly panicked. "I — I won't call you that again, if you don't like—"

I kissed him. "You're an idiot." Then again, and down his jaw, his neck. "You're… you're an _airhead_. There. That's _my_ nickname for _you_ , whether you like it or not."

"I — what?"

"Airhead." I nibbled his earlobe. I felt myself burning. "I want you to climax again," I whispered next to his ear. "And I want to hear you say my nickname."

He was still inside me, and I felt him harden. Wordlessly he nodded.

Some minutes later, he shuddered and trembled against me yet again, and he moaned out those two words. And I picked out the meaning behind them, just like earlier when he said he was mine.

I whispered, too quiet for him or even myself to hear.

"I love you too, airhead."


	3. Thank Goodness (Matt)

**Author's Notes:**

 **The couple celebrate their first Christmas together. Slight lemon, not meant to be standalone.**

* * *

My breath formed puffs of mist in front of me as I walked down the street of Kate's house. The whole block was quiet, but every house glowed bright with orange light against the darkening sky. I hefted my load on my shoulder, panting a little. There had been almost none left at this late hour, only the very large or the very frail, so I tried to get the most robust of the bunch.

I finally reached my destination. Kate must have been watching from the window, because she swung the door open before I could ring the doorbell and tiptoed up to kiss me. Then she looked up at my haul.

"It seems a little bare," she said.

"It's the healthiest they had," I replied. "Unless you want a giant, three-storied one; they've got one of that left."

"No, this is grand," she said with a smile. "Come on, you must be frozen."

We made our way to the large reception room where a fire was roaring merrily. With a grunt I put down the sickly pine sapling in a deep pot and sighed as the warmth washed over me.

"Oh," a voice said. "I was expecting one that would actually live till tomorrow."

I turned and saw Ms. Simpkins sitting in her armchair, a book on her lap.

"It was the best he could find," Kate said beside me, glaring at her chaperone. "Why aren't you helping set the table?"

"We paid them to do that," the woman replied with a sniff. "Honestly, why couldn't you have given _me_ a vacation, too?"

"Believe me, Marjorie, I would if I could," Kate said. "Unfortunately, that's dear Mummy's decision to make." She helped me take off my heavy coat and jacket, draping them over the back of a chair.

"Don't mind her," she whispered. "She's been in a grumpy mood all day long, after learning about _la petite fête_."

"Well she can go stuff herself," I said, in a grumpy mood myself.

"She probably will," Kate replied. "That woman can eat a horse. Come on, let's get this thing ready."

We decorated the tree with some cheap baubles she'd found earlier, and wrapped a makeshift ribbon around it several times before pronouncing ourselves done. It was the world's ugliest Christmas tree, orbs and trinkets hanging haphazardly and precariously on its frail branches, but it was the first one we'd made together and we both loved it. She hugged me tight as we stood and admired our handiwork.

"Ehhem," Ms. Simpkins said. Kate sighed and pulled away.

"Stop staring at us Marjorie. Go back to your book."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," the chaperone quipped icily, glaring at me. "Not while you two are behaving so _scandalously_. It is only due to the special occasion that I'm letting this slide."

Kate shrugged and gave me a wink. 'If only she knew,' her lips mouthed, and I blushed.

Ever since our night together three days ago, we've tried very hard to recreate the scenario, only to be foiled by Ms. Simpkins' constant refusal to leave Kate's side. She has shut down any attempts Kate's made to visit me at the Academy alone, and basically every other alone time we might have otherwise managed. The woman definitely suspected something, though I wasn't sure how, since we'd made sure to cover our tracks and erase any telltale signs.

Tonight was another one of Kate's schemes. Between her acquaintances and mine, there were quite a few lonely young people stuck in Paris for the Christmas season, and she thought a small party that lasted on into the small hours of the night would be perfect for wearing the chaperone out. I could leave, and return once she fell asleep.

It was simple but effective, so I'd gotten in touch with Chef Vlad, who'd introduced us to a very reputable high-end catering service, and the plan was in motion before Ms. Simpkins even knew what was going on. She had been more than miffed, so Kate had offered for her to bring her beau, but of course the woman thought a boring fair for 'youngsters' wouldn't suit his fancy.

It was only after the caterers arrived that we discovered a major flaw — what was a Christmas party without a Christmas tree? And hence my trek out to the local market to procure one.

We went over the guest list a last time. Two friends from the Academy who I got along with, plus three of Kate's female acquaintances at the Sorbonne. Then there's old Hal, who happened to be in town, and his crew.

Kate had made a brave and truly magnanimous gesture to invite Nadira, despite my fierce protests — something about having to overcome our pasts — but fortunately she couldn't be reached. Apparently she'd just upped and went to New Amsterdam to seek her fortunes. I bore her no ill will, and was even grateful to her for pushing me back with Kate, despite her having caused the whole mess in the first place. All the same, I was very glad we didn't have to face her again.

At around quarter to six, when the sky was almost completely dark, the first guests began to turn up. My American classmate Richard, who also wore his Academy uniform to my relief, and Kate's acquaintance Marianne, a petite brunette girl who just so happened to be American, studying history. It didn't take long for them to find out they were compatriots, and though one came from Philadelphos and the other Chicagou, they got on quite well.

We made small talk in the parlor, sipping our champagne. Ms. Simpkins became suddenly gracious and charming, ever the hostess. Despite all her misgivings about this being a youngsters' party, she seemed to have no problems at all adjusting, especially when the dark-haired and handsome Giuseppe arrived. With typical Italian flair he kissed all the ladies on the cheek and gave me and Richard both good-natured handshakes.

"Ah, this must be Ms. de Vries, our lovely host," he said, and I was slightly annoyed when he kissed her as well.

"You must be Mr. Carolini," Kate said, smiling. "Welcome, and thanks for coming on such short notice."

"Not at all, not at all. I am always thrilled to be in the presence of beautiful young women as yourself, and Ms. Sinclair and Ms. Simpkins." He bowed to the two others in turn.

Kate made the required overtures and introductions before coming over to me.

"How did you become friends with him?" she whispered as we pretended to refill our champagnes. "He's the complete opposite of Richard."

"He lives in the room next to mine," I said. "He's friendly to everyone, even the first years, and helped me adjust."

"Well, he seems very full of himself." She rolled her eyes as Giuseppe bent down to kiss Ms. Simpkins' hand. "A younger version of Hal, but more obnoxious."

"Well he's certainly got the looks to be confident about," I remarked.

"You think he's handsome?" She scoffed. She looked around before giving my hand a tiny squeeze. "Don't worry, he's nowhere as handsome as you," she whispered. Then she flitted away, leaving me grinning like an idiot at the champagne table.

The servers turned on the gramophone soon after the two other girls arrived, one Valerie and Yvonne. They were both pretty and studied literature, but being classically French, they praised the Dumas's, exulted Hugo, tolerated Tolstoy, and hated Dickens.

For my own part, Mr. Dickens had helped me cope with those first sleepless months aboard the _Aurora_ , when I'd been young, bereaved, and overwhelmed. His stories described working class boys with whom I could relate, and they had comforted me immensely. I held my tongue, though, for I didn't think I could win an argument against two girls whose business it was to analyze novels.

Fortunately, sometime during it all someone had the idea to start a dance, and we paired off, the tune light and festive as we twirled.

Kate and I managed to sneak a dance after two or three songs, and she pressed herself into me forcefully. I could tell she wanted badly to kiss me, and I did too, but we made do with the subtle grinds of our body. We were lucky everyone else was too busy to pay us any attention, for we were indecently close.

Neither of us wanted it to end, though it was common courtesy to switch partners. When the doorbell rang, we made our excuses to go answer.

"Cruse!" Hal said when the oaken slab swung open. I grinned at him, holding out a hand, but he enveloped me in a gruff hug. "Great to see you. And Ms. de Vries, as well."

"How are you, Hal," Kate said as she ushered them in. "Dorje, Kami, Ang! Welcome, welcome."

"And Mrs. Ram!" I said, laughing as I spotted the old Tibetan woman, looking completely at home in the freezing wind. The Sherpas hugged me and Kate each in turn, and we were instantly chatting, both sides catching up on news as we walked into the parlor. I was glad the bond of friendship we'd formed after the _Hyperion_ expedition was still going strong.

"So how come you're not out and about?" I asked Hal as we rounded the corner. "I heard the _Saga_ has been flying since last month."

"We just finished a big job over in India and the Orient," he said. "Nasty business. It's been a giant mess over there since the Sinican Revolution, but fighting always made for plenty of cash, plus my crew were happy for a chance to go home, so we went."

"In any case we're glad you could join us, Marjorie included," Kate said, smiling as she noticed Ms. Simpkins' positively astonished looks when she glanced over and saw us walking in. Everyone pretty much stopped dancing as a fresh round of introduction was made.

"Ms. Simpkins," Hal said, bending to kiss her cheeks. "I am happy to find you well."

"Very well, Mr. Slater," she trilled, flustered and no doubt loving every moment of it. The handsome devil. "Very well indeed."

"Zeese are friends of yoors?" asked one of the French girls to me. She eyed the Sherpas with interest, though I thought her gaze was uncomfortably like those of visitors in a zoo.

"Of course," I said. "And friends of Kate, as well."

"C'est très… _oriental_ ," she remarked, and shared a good giggle with her friend. Even the American girl, Marianne, was exchanging strange looks with Richard.

Hal's brows furrowed in annoyance, and I was indignant as well. I began to tell them about our expedition aboard the _Hyperion_ , emphasizing the courage and ability of our Sherpa friends. Soon Kate, Dorje, Hal, and even Ms. Simpkins joined in the narrative, and everyone was enthralled.

"Zat ees very romantique," Valerie said with a wink when Kate described the close call we had when we hid together inside the honking coffin.

"Romantic?" Kate said, frowning.

"Weel, eet ees not very big, le coffin? Le garçon et la fille, inside ze small space…"

"Scandaleux!" exclaimed Yvonne, also with a smile now.

"Oh, no!" Kate said hurriedly, cheeks a little red. "We _had_ to hide there. Plus, we're just good friends." Ms. Simpkins rolled her eyes, and I thought I saw Hal and the Sherpa crew suppress a smirk, but they were kind enough to play along.

I was blushing myself, which probably didn't help matters. Fortunately Kate kept her calm, and changed the topic to riveting tidbits of our tropical adventures on Szpirglas' island, both to entertain our guests and to clarify why she and I were so close. I saw the recognition and admiration in the three girls' eyes as Kate recounted our escapades, and fidgeted. Maybe Kate saw those too, because her descriptions suddenly became a lot more brief and terse.

But the effect had been achieved. The conversation opened up into a wide new realm as Richard and Giuseppe regaled us with their own training tours. Champagne went around in endless glasses, and Hal shared some of his past exploits and the trip they just took to the Orient. Before we knew it the clock read nine thirty — perfect time for dinner.

We adjourned to the dining room, all of us hungry but still constantly talking. I was glad to see that my fellow students had started to discuss aviation with the Sherpas. Hal was, as always, charming the ladies, and Ms. Simpkins was in an animated argument with Marianne over some minor point of a book they'd both read. Kate took the opportunity to sneak to my side, nudging me playfully.

"I think we're well on our way to success," she said in a volume that only I could hear. Then she flushed, and her touch lingered a bit too long on my arm. "Let's try to make dinner last as long as possible. I hope you won't be too tired by the time they leave."

I felt my face heat up as she sashayed away.

ooo

We ended up being wildly successful, and dinner didn't end until past midnight. The caterers left after serving dessert, eyeing us all strangely as they scurried out of the kitchen, for we were certainly an odd bunch. Kate made sure to give them all a generous tip.

After the clock struck one, we gathered around the small and meager-looking Christmas tree, which everyone was too polite to criticize, and sang Christmas carols in French and English. Then Mrs. Ram taught us some Tibetan New Year songs, and everyone dove into them with tuneless enthusiasm, even the French girls. For a moment the camaraderie was tight and pulsing in the room, and it felt like we were an odd extended family.

There was some more socializing, before one by one our guests called on their chauffeurs (most of them dozing in the servant's room) to drive them back home.

There was a moment when Giuseppe offered to give me a ride, threatening to ruin everything. I managed to sidetrack him by asking him about the schedule of our spring exams, which he was happy to answer. Then Yvonne came over and he got distracted.

 _Thanks, Yvonne_ , I thought as they walked out, arm in arm, laughing together.

Hal and the rest of the gang were the last to leave. They'd arrived by cab, and had paid for the driver to wait for them. The surly Frenchman certainly seemed none-too-pleased about the ungodly hour of his clients' departure, until a wad of extra banknotes quite wiped away his frown.

And then it was just Ms. Simpkins, our last and greatest hurdle. I made a great show to leave, hugging Kate and having her help me with my coat and jacket. The chaperone must have been exhausted by the evening, but her gaze was still hawk-like as she followed me out of the door.

I hid myself in a corner down the front stairs where she wouldn't be able to see me from the window. I leaned against the wall and looked up at the starry sky, shifting into my crow's nest routine to distract myself. Time seemed to creep by imperceptibly slow.

Finally, _finally_ , Kate reopened the oak doors, and I rushed back up the steps. All it took was an affirmative nod for me to wrap her in my arms, and our kiss was ravenous as we entered the house and locked the door behind us. In the reception room, a few layers of clean bedsheets had already been laid over the large couch, along with a thick woolen blanket. The fire was still going in the fireplace, so we should be warm enough. That was my Kate — always prepared.

I don't think we broke away at all as we tore at each other's clothes, piling them into a messy heap on the floor. She brought the blanket over us both as she pushed me down onto the couch. It felt like we hadn't touched each other in years, rather than three measly days. As the fire danced, so did we, our bare skins hotter than the flames.

Our first was quick and tempestuous, passionate almost to the point of violence, both of us desperate for contact and release. It was the roughest she's been with me, and I with her, but she never once showed pain, only urgency. We slowed down a little after that, and I used my mouth and fingers when I got too worn out, but we knew we had to make the most of these quiet hours before Ms. Simpkins woke up again. It felt like a race against time, like the spell would break when light crept through the windows.

We eventually stopped sometime in the early dawn, exhausted and drenched in sweat. The fire had dwindled into smoldering embers, and we laid mostly in darkness, the sky barely having lightened. We allowed ourselves a few minutes of quiet cuddling before we stood up to avoid falling asleep. We kissed and shared a tired smile; not exactly satisfied yet, but too spent to continue.

She gently wiped away the sweat and fluids on our bodies with a towel she'd prepared. My skin stung from the fresh marks she'd made, but every single one felt like a witness to our passion, and it was a good kind of sting. Like waking from a dream, we dressed each other in intimate silence and worked to clean up the aftermath of the frenzy.

I stifled a yawn when we finished stashing away the dirty linen. She leaned into me, nuzzling my chest.

"I suppose we won't get to do this again in quite a while," she whispered wistfully. "The servants will be back tomorrow."

"No, I suppose not." I kissed her forehead. "I'd keep that sleeping draught ready in any case."

She sighed. "I wish tonight could last forever."

"I'm not sure my poor back can take much more," I teased.

"Oh please. You enjoyed it every bit as much as I did."

I gave her a rueful grin. "You know me too well."

A crackle came from the dying embers, and we shivered with the early morning chill setting in. She looked up at me, concerned. "How are you going to get back?"

"Walking," I said truthfully. I didn't relish the idea of a predawn trek back to the Academy in my current state, but it was small price to pay for what we'd just shared.

"Maybe you could sleep in the servant's room," she said, her brows furrowed. "We could spin something — a blizzard that forced you to come back here."

I snorted. "A likely story. We're in Paris, not the Yukon."

"Paris can have blizzards," she said, her nostrils narrowing. "Plus, you're the only guest who didn't have a chauffeur. It's within reason and hospitality to let you stay overnight."

'Perhaps," I said, finding myself unexpectedly drawn to the idea. I rested my chin on her shoulder, and she kissed my cheek.

"You can stay in the basement servant's room," she said. "It'll be cold, but Marjorie will never think to check down there."

"Stay with me then," I told her. "I want to wake up next to you."

"Oh, Matt," she said softly, hugging me tight. "There's nothing I want more. And I'm sorry I woke up earlier last time. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I hate your chaperone," I said wearily.

She chuckled. "Sometimes I do too. Come on, let's find some breakfast, and then I'll get you settled."

We made our way to the kitchen, scavenging for leftovers. The dessert had been banana soufflé, and there were a few of the fruit left on the counter. We ate quickly, not bothering to find anything else.

"How did they even get bananas this time of year?" I asked absent-mindedly as I finished my second fruit.

"Latest shipment from Australia," she replied. "It's summer there, remember?"

"Right," I said, quickly peeling another. "Thank goodness for Australia."

She didn't respond. Instead she frowned thoughtfully, and seemed suddenly fascinated by her own banana. She peeled it and squinted at its shape. Then she put one end of the white flesh in her mouth, but didn't bite down, swirling the fruit with her tongue. When she spat it out and looked up, her grey eyes shined with fresh determination and a reignited desire.

"Finish your breakfast," she said, her cheeks rosy. "I want to try something on you."

"Try something?" I asked, puzzled.

She nodded, shy yet coquettish. "Think of it as my apology for letting you sleep alone."

Five minutes later, as I stared up at the ceiling of the servant's room, my knees weak, all I could think was:

 _Thank goodness for Australia_.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **As always, in the Airborn tradition of things, I've changed up the names of cities a bit to reflect an alternate universe.**


	4. Permission (Kate)

**Author's Notes:**

 **Elena arc, part 4 of 7. Kate comes to a decision.**

 **Firstly, apologies for the very late update. I hit a few writer's block along the way.**

 **Second, this chapter is under the M fic. I'm sorry for the lemons, but I felt the scenes wouldn't be as natural without them, given the characters' history and their current relationship.**

 **Third, this chapter was HARD to write. Probably the hardest chapter I've written for this fic to date. I am very uncertain/insecure about it, because it deals with a host of emotions and almost conflicting thoughts, so** _ **please**_ **tell me if things worked or didn't.**

 **Fourth, this fic will go on hiatus while I devote my time to things irl. Hopefully I will be back in a few months. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

I led him to the bedroom of my suite and climbed onto the soft cotton mattress. The night lamp was still on, and when he stepped into its soft glow, his thin form appeared to materialize out of darkness. He paused a little at the foot before climbing on to join me.

The bed was plenty big, and we occupied but a fraction of its space. He was freshly showered, smelling like soap and free summer air. I snuggled into him, dizzy with his arms and chest around me.

He brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. "I missed you."

"Me too." I said softly. "I'm sorry this took a week."

"I think we both needed that time."

"Maybe we did."

I kissed him. Slowly, he kissed back. Neither of us were in a hurry to stop, and despite ourselves, the kiss garnered steam.

It was easy to lose myself in his lips, especially when his arms tightened around me, and the long-absent thrill of giddiness jolted through my body. I couldn't stop my hands from snaking around his shoulder, or pressing at the back of his head to push him into me. He tasted like toothpaste and happiness and apology, and when I gripped a fistful of his hair, his fingers slid down to the small of my back. I was restless and full of want.

Half by accident I found the fabric belt of his robe and tugged the knot loose. With the front thus opened, a quick exploratory touch told me he was wearing only his briefs underneath. The glance of my finger on his smooth torso sent both of us trembling. I slid the robe off his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the nook of his neck.

"I missed this," I whispered against his skin.

"Me too," he said, his own hands tracing the line of my waist. Then he snorted. "Wow. I can't even remember the last time we did this."

"What?" I asked innocently, kissing a trail to his shoulder. "You mean… this?" I gave him a nibble, hard enough to show in the morning.

"Ow," he said, but I could hear his smile. "Among other things, yes."

"Hmm." I locked eyes with him and, while he watched, dragged my tongue across his shoulders and down the center of his chest. He reddened adorably. "Can you imagine doing this in space?"

"Uh-um, in space?" he stammered, the effect of my display still evident. "Wouldn't that be… a bit messy?"

"Probably," I agreed. "I wish we'd given it a try, though. Too bad I was being chaperoned."

"As if a chaperone ever stopped _you_ ," he said, grinning. " _Ms. Katherine de Vries, sleeping draught enthusiast!_ " he announced, in a bad imitation of Mr. Lunardi's booming voice. I tried to tickle him, but he laughed and hugged me close, pinning my arms between us.

It was a laugh I hadn't heard in a long time; teasing and open and carefree, as much a part of him as anything. I rejoiced in its pureness, like clear skies and morning walks. I'd forgotten how much I missed it, and pressed to him, I could hear every part of it reverberating inside me, echoing with me down to my bones. For an impossible moment, I was filled with his laughter, and all was right in the world.

But then the sound faded, and he sighed and kissed my forehead. I looked up, and found his eyes elsewhere. I didn't know how I knew — perhaps it was something in his absent gaze, or the way he held himself, or how he didn't hold me as tightly as before.

"You're thinking about her," I blurted.

It wasn't a question.

He froze. For a split second I thought he would look at me, but he didn't.

"I am," he said, almost too quiet to hear. I let the syllable hang between us, and counted my heartbeats.

One, two, five, ten.

 _Is he not going to say anything else?_

Twenty.

 _He's afraid_ , I thought. Or maybe I was afraid.

Forty.

 _Say something. Anything._

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred heartbeats, he leaned in to kiss me. It wasn't completely expected, though instinct took over and I grabbed at his hair again. It was fervent, relentless, more desperation than kiss. I bit his lips, but he didn't pull away when I tasted that iron tang.

I lost track of my heartbeats.

When we broke apart, his lower lip had a spot of red. Even under the weak glow of the night lamp, his face seemed so _adult_ that I felt a sudden urge to cry.

At that moment I realized my Matt was gone. _My_ Matt, the one who joked around and teased me and surprised me. Now, here, this Matt was no longer my own, no longer content with just me and only me. Like Wendy returning from Neverland, he grew up.

He grew up the moment he picked up that bundle.

"I love you," he said.

"… I know," I whispered.

"She… she doesn't change that." He licked gingerly at the red spot.

"I know."

"Kate, I —"

"Do you love her?"

The instant those words rolled off my tongue, I knew he wasn't prepared for the question. Heavens, _I_ wasn't prepared for his answer. Even after a week, the merest mention of _her_ — just a pronoun, not even a name — had me desperate to void everything out of my head. I saw in my mind's eye, him holding her, his small smile… the way he'd looked at her like he wouldn't want anything else in the world.

And her, as well. Her toothless grin, her excited wriggle. Her clear giggle — that twinkling noise, almost like starlight, that repeated itself over and over in my brain. I wish I could hate her, but I could not… not when she shared his eyes.

Still, I held my breath. I knew what his response would be — what it _had_ to be. In a way, I wanted something to drive home the stake, to finish the blow. I'd known this moment would come, after all.

"I don't know," he said.

The vibration of his voice went first to my lungs, then spread through the rest of me, almost as if I were the speaker. They made no sense to me. I lifted my head a little, almost peeking at him. He wasn't looking at me; in fact, his eyes weren't focused on anything in particular. I pressed my lips to his shoulder.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" I asked. My own voice was trapped by his skin, muffled and small.

"I just… don't," he said, and I felt that same hum spread through me.

I shook my head. "You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not," he said.

I shook my head again, still disbelieving. "But… I saw the way you looked. At her."

"I was overwhelmed," he said after a brief pause. "I didn't —"

"Didn't think she'd really be there?" I quipped.

He nodded, looking miserable. "I… it's weird, Kate. I've never — I can't — I can't explain it."

"You _won't_ explain it," I said, unable to stem the dripping acrimony in my voice. "There's a difference."

He winced. "I don't want us to fight. I didn't come here to fight."

"Then stop lying to me."

"I'm not! Why do you —"

"Just admit it. You love her, Matt."

"And what if I say I don't?" he snapped. I jumped at the rare ferocity in his tone. "Will you believe me? Or do you believe only what you _want_ to believe?" He paused for breath, but didn't give me time to respond. "A week ago I didn't know she _exists_ , Kate. I'm still trying to understand how I feel about her, and all this, and what I want to do. I'm confused, and anxious, and afraid, so I don't need you making assumptions about who I love — because I love _you_ , and right now that's the only truth I know."

I stared at him. I saw his flushed cheeks, heard his breath loud between us. A bone was lodged in my throat, tight and knotted. I couldn't remember the last time he'd raised his voice with me. It wasn't supposed to be like this; once again, by allowing my own silly feelings to dominate me, I'd hurt him. Hurt us.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I cupped his face and kissed him. "I'm sorry, Matt."

He flinched at first, and his lips didn't soften until some seconds in, but then he kissed back, forceful and assertive. His hands were forceful as well, gripping me, pulling me to him. Anger fueled our desire, aided by the months of abstinence, and I missed the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; that smothering sensation of wanting _more_ , faster, drowning in a vortex of passion.

With the last shred of my will, I stopped him just before he was about to take off my knickers. He breathed out an incoherent moan of complaint.

"No, Matt," I panted. "Later. I want you to try. Describe it. Your feelings."

He broke away, his gaze dark and lidded and puzzled. A few breaths later the lust drained away.

"My feelings… about her?" he asked.

I nodded. "I want… to understand. I _need_ to understand."

He eyed me almost warily. I stroked his arm and his flank, waiting for him to trust me. Slowly he relaxed.

"I'll try," he said flatly. "But I'm not good at, um, describing things."

"It's okay," I said. "This isn't a test."

He nodded and scrunched up his face the way he did when he was presented with a difficult problem. He took a few minutes to organize his thoughts.

"She's… mysterious," he said finally. "And strange… and surreal."

Those weren't adjectives I'd been anticipating. I blinked. He saw my expression and smiled a little.

"I'm still getting used to the idea of her being… from me," he clarified. "The idea that she's… a person. A real person, that I helped… create."

There was another pause before he continued.

"You keep saying I love her," he said, ignoring my wince, "and maybe I'm _supposed_ to love her. But I haven't really… spent time with her. She's an entire different human being, Kate, and I… I barely know her. I had ten minutes to make up for Nadira's ten months. I was overwhelmed." He exhaled. "So, no… I don't think it's love."

"Then?" I asked, a small whisper.

"I'm not sure, but I _do_ know — um."

"What, Matt?"

"I _do_ know I want to protect her." He sounded like he wasn't entirely sure if he should've said it. He grasped my hand and looked at me, cautious, as if afraid I would explode. I felt a pang of something prick at me.

"I see," I said, and offered nothing else. I didn't hide the fact I was hurt. I knew what I wanted — I wanted him to comfort me, to console me, to reassure me. To say he was sorry. He'd always been sweet and considerate in this regard, so much so that I'd taken it for granted — he was usually the first to apologize, the first to soften after a fight, the first to initiate a cuddle.

He did none of those. He only furrowed his brows, parted his lips a sliver. I knew him well enough to see the turmoil in his eyes, the only clue to some kind of secret war inside him that I wasn't privy to. I didn't like a Matt I couldn't read, couldn't kiss, couldn't snuggle into. It scared me.

Finally, he raised his head.

"I want your permission," he said, grave and somber, his words subdued yet brimming with a nervous undercurrent. I didn't understand what he was asking, obviously, but like a premonition, immediately I knew. I knew my world had changed, and I couldn't possibly stop it.

We stared at each other. He inhaled, exhaled.

"I want your permission… to go see her."

 _Of course_. After all that talk about him wanting to protect her… naturally he'd want to act on them. My mouth felt very dry. I tried to clear my throat, but all I got was an annoying itch that refused to dislodge.

"… to America?" I croaked out.

He hesitated. My hand was still threaded through his, and he squeezed.

"No," he said. "They're… in Lionsgate City."

"Lionsgate?" I was so surprised I temporarily snapped out of my trepidation. "But Nadira said she was going back to New Amsterdam!"

"She was," he said. "I asked her — them — to stay."

The sentence almost seemed to linger in the air between us, laden with too much meaning to be dismissed; too dangerous to be wielded lightly. Then it settled on me as an anvil striking ground, and smashed me open.

"You asked her… to stay? Last _week_ …? And you _didn't think to tell me?_ "

It wasn't as much a question as a cold front, and I was trembling with its force. The swift freeze of it punched through the room like a wintry draft you weren't ready for in April. Matt froze, like a fawn without its mother close by.

"Kate…" he said.

I snatched my hand away from his grip.

"Don't _Kate_ me," I nearly snarled. " _Why didn't you tell me?_ "

"I was trying to," he said weakly. "This past week, I kept wanting to, but you —"

" _Me?_ _You_ were the one who asked her in the first place!"

"I just —"

"What? You just what?"

"I — well — Nadira was about to leave, and I didn't know where she lived, and I just — " his voice cracked, "I didn't want it to be the last time I saw Ellie, alright?"

He was panting, his face flushed, and there was a desperation I couldn't recall seeing before in him, something which tugged at him from a place I couldn't reach.

He was my future husband, yet this was a side of him I'd never witnessed, a part of him I didn't dare push.

"… I thought her name was Elena," I said.

He gave me a look before he snorted. "I forgot, you don't know; Nadira calls her Ellie."

"Ah," I said.

He shook his head. "I didn't think you'd remember her name."

"It's a very pretty name."

He snorted again. When I tried to take his hand, he withdrew his, though a moment later he let me hold his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know how you must feel. I'm sorry it happened this way."

"… where are they staying?"

"I don't know. The Waldorf, maybe. She — Nadira — agreed to wait until we got back from the national tour."

"And… what? You'll see _her_ , presumably."

He tensed, hesitating. Suddenly he kissed me. I gasped, so it wasn't a very good kiss, but he didn't care.

"If you'll allow it," he said, breath hot on my lips. "I won't lie; I want you to. But… but if you don't — " he drew back a few inches, visibly steeling himself — "then I won't go."

I couldn't look him in the eyes. I didn't want to be the one to decide — something of such magnitude, involving more than just me or him — it wasn't something that should be left to me. Yet it was; to me, and only me. He'd laid himself completely at my mercy. I started shivering, and he pulled me into him. I wanted, _wanted_ with all my heart to say no.

When he opened his mouth to ask again, I panicked. I could no more bear his intensity than I could my own wasp's nest of emotions. I was confused, disoriented, even angry, and I knew if he pressed me, I would break, and break him with me.

So I did the only thing I truly wanted at the moment — had wanted for months and months. With a quick shrug, my chemise went over my head.

The sudden movement stalled him, and his mouth fell open a little.

"Kate?" he asked, startled and worried.

"I'm not ready," I said, cupping his face. "I can't decide. Not yet."

I threw the chemise far away. The air felt liberating on my breasts.

"Let me have this," I said. "I want to."

"But you —"

"I need you." I kissed him and ran my fingers up the inside of his thigh. I felt him jolt.

"Kate —"

"Let me have you," I said, my voice precariously close to breaking. "Please, Matt."

He looked at me very strangely then, almost like he didn't quite recognize me, but when I slipped the rest of his robe off his shoulders, he offered no protest. His gaze was on me all the same, dark and almost inscrutable, but I thought there was something close to resignedness, or relief, or yearning. Then it dawned on me — he wasn't ready either. _He_ needed this just as much as I did. I shimmied out of my knickers and underclothes, until I was wearing nothing but the ring.

"I'll answer you later," I told him before I pushed him onto the mattress, my fingers pressing into his firm stomach. He shivered a little as the ring touched his skin, and the muscles in his abdomen clenched into those subtle lines I so enjoyed touching. After the arid months without close contact, his body was an oasis of all I needed, and I wanted nothing more than to indulge myself in exploration, to touch and kiss and lick every familiar inch.

But not right now.

He lifted his hips a little to help me pull his briefs off him; it took me two tries to clear it over his pulsing form. When I straddled him, one of his hands went to my hips to help steady me, his other reaching for my center.

"No." I told him. "Don't move."

"But, Kate… are you sure?"

"You're asking this _now?_ "

"No, I didn't mean —" he stumbled over his words. "You don't feel… wet enough."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I don't want to hurt you."

I rolled my eyes. "What am I, a virgin?"

"I didn't… At least let me be on top?"

"And why would I do that?"

"So I can —"

"What? So you can what? Go _slow?_ " I brushed my hair behind me. I needed control. I needed to take charge, to be the active one. He was always too gentle, and right now I didn't need _gentle_. I needed to feel him slam into me. "Stay _down_ , Matt."

He finally acquiesced, though uncertainly so. I aligned myself, both hands flat on his chest for balance. I locked eyes with him.

"Kate," he breathed as I began to sink down on him. He had been right, of course — my body hadn't been anticipating this, and the tip of him alone had me hissing in pain. He sat up a little in alarm. "Are you okay?" he asked in his usual tender way.

Suddenly I was furious at myself.

No, I was _not_ okay. I wanted to bawl and hurl things out of the window. I wanted oblivion, to feel him inside me and take enough off my mind I wouldn't explode. _She_ had endured _childbirth_ , and I couldn't even do _this?_

I swallowed the pressure behind my eyes and bit my lip — he must have sensed something because he tried to stop me, but I pinned his arms to his side.

"Kate, no, you're going to —"

I took a deep breath, and plunged down.

I scarcely managed to prevent myself from screaming. It was excruciating, nothing like any of the previous times, not even the first. It was like he had broken me, and I felt so stuffed I thought I would be sick. A few drops of involuntary tears seeped out from the corner of my eyes. Yet at the same time, I was… elated. Liberated. Triumphant. I looked down to see his face locked somewhere between shock, anger, and lust. His entire body was trembling, and he was twitching inside me. His hands gripped my waist, his fingers white.

I knew that once he regained his composure, he would stop us to see if he'd hurt me… so I simply began to move. He let out a sound halfway between whimper and moan, looking horrified but too overwhelmed to fight back, temporarily robbed of the ability to speak.

Each motion was against every instinct, every square inch of me shrieking at me to slow down, but I dug my nails into his torso and focused on his face — his mouth agape, his brows furrowed, his eyes almost squinting in a surprised half-grimace. He tried again to stop me, but I knew he couldn't overpower me… not right now. This was what I wanted. This was _my_ effect on him.

The pain came in waves as I rode him. For a few plunges I was afraid it would be permanent, accompanied with that overfull feeling, but as I adjusted around him, it became at first tolerable, then expected, before finally blending into the background. He helped, too — he ended up bringing his fingers to me anyway, despite my command to the contrary. He knew my spots just as I knew his, and soon the pain faded altogether, replaced by a kindling of slow-burning pleasure that simmered with grinding friction.

He'd had plenty of practice before, and in the months between he'd lost none of his considerable skill, rubbing and pressing and flicking. He stared at me as he did so, gauging every reaction. It felt almost like a competition, and one which I was losing. The fire spread like a it was a pine forest after drought — a few minutes in, and abruptly, without ceremony, I was pushed over the edge.

I had to bite him to keep myself from crying out. The climax had taken me completely off guard, my own body colluding with him to override my senses. It was blinding, as a shaft of light would be to an explorer trapped for months in a cave — I had forgotten how powerful it felt, and how powerless I was against it. I pinched him, scratched him, wishing to carve my name into him.

And his hands…! His hands never stopped, tiptoeing the fine line between overstimulation and ecstasy, drawing out my peak into an impossible tendril, shining yet bordering painful in its intensity. My vision all but went blank. Finally, when it was done, I was left scatter-brained and hungry in its wake. My hair was a wild tumble all around and between us.

"Oh," I moaned against him, no better than a heap of goo lying on his chest. "Oh… Matt…"

"I think someone enjoyed that," he remarked, proud and just the right amount of smug. His grin was mischievous, and I couldn't help but return it.

With unsteady hands I pushed myself up, loving the way he looked. A pocket of red on his collarbone belied my peak, and his sculpted chest and belly was crisscrossed with my handiwork. I would keep us frozen in this moment if I could — joined together, him grinning at me, his body marked by me and only me.

"Yes, I did," I said, tickling him. "But now… your turn?"

I clenched myself around him, watching as he seemed to remember the fact that he was still inside me. A blush spread on his face, even though none of this was new to him.

I gave him a smile, tapped his nose, and began to move.

I did everything I knew he liked, almost attacking him with my fingers, my tongue, my teeth. His reactions were well known to me, and I reveled in my control over him, clinging to those little signs like they were my life force — the involuntary thrust, the small throaty groan, the way he tensed his muscles. The writhing, half-tortured pant that was my name.

For a brief while, I could drive everything from my mind and just concentrate on him. On us. The world went away, washing from my immediate consciousness like the tide receding, taking with it the refuse and litter of a thousand filthy coasts. I gloried in the simple togetherness we shared; just us, _only_ us, like it was always meant to be. I was his _fiancé_ , for goodness' sake; I had every right… the _only_ right. The pleasure was beginning to build again, and I rocked faster, with irrefutable determination, and was rewarded with a tight groan.

"Kate, I'm close," he warned. I leaned down to kiss him.

"Then let _go_ ," I puffed urgently against his lips. "Come on, Matt."

I ground myself hard on him, once, twice. He hissed. A moment later he bucked, a grunt half-stuck in his throat, and I felt him spasm under me. Just before he went over, he grasped my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. There, between our palms, the ring felt nestled and snug and safe.

He was completely unguarded as he poured all of himself into me. No matter how many times I'd seen it, witnessing his climax was always exceedingly powerful, and my favorite aspect of the whole experience. I tried desperately to ingrain every precious second into my memory — how his expressions changed with each new wave, how his body moved in the throes of pleasure, the warmth gushing inside me, a fountain of his passion.

He laid panting for a few moments after he was spent, sweat beaded on his torso. I combed my hand through his hair, wishing I could photograph him at this moment — fragile and flushed with near-painful bliss, more burning marks on his skin; mine, mine, _only_ mine.

"Someone _definitely_ enjoyed that," I quipped, thumbing his lips.

He was still panting a little, and his face was red, but he gave me his signature smile. "Yes, I did," he said. He ran a hand to my waist, caressing lightly around the sides, and massaged my thighs and hips. I sighed happily, settling myself flat on him once more. It was like autumn sunshine, or a balmy day strolling through the Butcharts' Gardens; there was a complete sense of wholeness, of goodness and certainty, of intimacy and comfort and love — of having shared each other and given each other pleasure. His hands traced a languorous lullaby in my skin, just shy of tickling, as if saying, _I'm here, I'm yours_. The half-open porthole windows allowed just the right amount of breeze, and I grew drowsy in the soft rolling lassitude of the afterglow.

But then his hands stopped.

"What's wrong?" I asked, puzzled. I wriggled a little, wanting the attention I wasn't getting. He paid me no heed; instead, he was staring at his fingers, frowning. When his gaze returned to me, I realized he was angry.

"You were bleeding," he said simply, showing me the rust red on his nails and fingertips. He pushed me off him and gently pulled out of me. I gave a whine of discontent, but he ignored me and pressed me firmly onto the bed. "Don't move," he said. I heard him make his way to the bathroom, and moments later, he was back with a wet towel.

Neither of us spoke as he nudged my legs apart and proceeded to clean me. The coolness of the soaked fabric soothed my inflamed center; an almost icy relief after the abuse I'd put it through. I watched the concentration and patience on his face, and I thought: _he'll make a good father_.

I felt his essence seep out of me onto the sheet; millions of copies of himself, his half of the miracle of life.

"I wish I never took the medications," I blurted.

"What medications?" he asked absently, oblivious.

I gripped the sheets, trying to clench myself to stop the fluid from flowing out, as if enough of it could counteract the physiology of the drug.

"The ones… the ones that prevent a baby."

My throat felt tight when I squeezed out the answer, and the words themselves were fluttery, as if they had a mind to fly out the window and never be heard.

He froze. Slowly he put the towel on the nightstand.

I was precariously close to tears, so I gave him a light tug and pulled him on top of me. I thought having him surround me would make me feel better, like it had earlier, but when he rested his head on my shoulder — just like he always did — I began to cry.

He tensed a bit, though still reached out to wipe the droplets from my eyes. I buried myself into him, hands clawing into his shoulders, wishing he were closer, closer, _closer_. Our sweaty bodies rubbed together, warm and intimate and all broken. I pushed my nose to his underarms, because there his musk was the strongest, and I wanted to be surrounded by his scent, like my personal hideout. My tears mingled with his sweat. I felt his chest rise and fall against me.

Slowly I stopped crying. We breathed together for some time, and then he said:

"Do you think she needs me?"

The question was quiet, solemn, without prelude.

But I hadn't been paying attention. I was too busy feeling the sensation of his skin on mine, too busy trying to memorize his scent. I must have made a noise of confusion, though, for he clarified.

"Ellie," he said, voice low. "Do you think she needs me?"

This time the meaning did register in my distracted mind, though I was at a lost.

"… What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me. Do you think she needs me?"

I rolled my eyes. "How should I know? _You're_ her father."

Those were as close to fighting words as the circumstance allowed. We were too entangled right now, too bare, too recently bonded, for me to resort to true savagery. All the same, he was silent for a few breaths' time, long enough that I thought I'd been too harsh. I opened my mouth to apologize.

"Nadira told me I wasn't needed," he said before I could do so. "Last week, when I went to say goodbye. She told me Ellie would be better off without me. So I suppose it's just something I've been thinking about. A lot."

There was a bewildered loneliness in his voice, even with him so close to me; as each vibration spread through my body, so too did the desolation now evident within.

"That's preposterous," I said, my guts wrenched itself in an ugly way. "I saw — _you_ saw the baby smiling. At _you_."

"Ellie is a month old, Kate. She'll smile at anyone." He shook his head. "Nadira's right — I wasn't there for her, I didn't help her. I don't even love her." He looked away from me. "She managed almost a year without me."

"She deliberately kept you in the dark. That's not the same as —"

"She did the best thing for Ellie, and I don't blame her." Abruptly he laughed. I hadn't expected him to laugh. It was an angry, bitter thing, one that wracked his thin frame. "After all, it's like she said: 'Better fatherless than a bastard', right?"

It took a second to fully appreciate the cruelty of the sentence. My mouth fell open.

"She doesn't mean that!" I said, wishing desperately to erase the billowing bleakness brewing inside him. "Isn't she waiting in Lionsgate precisely so you can see the ba — see Ellie, again?"

"No; she meant it, and probably still means it." He shrugged. "She only agreed to wait because I was begging her to when a maid came down the hall, and it would've caused a scene." He laughed again, still mirthless. "Good timing, that."

He tried to be nonchalant, but it was clear just how deeply the remark had wounded him. I hated myself for being so useless — all I could do was hold him, let him know I was here, try to warm him with my body. He caressed my side, and I tracked the trail of his fingers… one circle, two circles, three, four.

"I think she needs you," I whispered. "Ellie."

"You don't have to lie for my sake," he said, kissing my cheek. "In fact, I shouldn't have brought up that question at all. I'm sorry."

"No. She needs you. You might not… feel that way, or Nadira might not, but she needs you. You're her — you're half of her! Who's going to protect her but you? Isn't that what you wanted to do?"

"But that's the point! What _I_ want isn't what's best for her, or for you, or for anyone. I want her in my life, Kate. I want her in my life, but I don't know what to do."

By the last word his voice did break, and my heart broke with it. He cleared his throat for the next few seconds until he managed to calm down.

"She doesn't need me," he said quietly, with a kind of fragile finality, like he was coming to terms with the dissolution of a part of himself. "Earlier you asked me if I love her, and I'm still not sure. But when I thought about how she doesn't need me, how she'll _never_ need me… I realized… _I'm_ the one who needs _her_."

He took a shuddery breath, trying valiantly to continue, but couldn't. His grip tightened on my waist, and for the first time tonight I caught a glimpse of the boy underneath the mask of a man. From how taut his muscles were, I could tell he was trying not to cry; even now, lying skin to skin with me, he was trying to be strong, and brave, and _adult_.

Insensibly, my nails dug into his chest, another five marks added to the plethora already there. I was a powder keg of emotions; envious of Nadira, jealous of the baby. Angry at him for caring, furious at myself for being so petty. Terrified I was no longer the only one he smiled for.

Terrified he no longer smiled at all.

It was like that afternoon two years ago, in the mango-scented cave on Spzirglas' island, with the thunderstorm pouring around us, when he was broken and fallen from grace.

I just wanted him to be happy.

When he managed to compose himself, and gave me a tired kiss, I knew what I needed to say. _It's only a single visit_ , I reasoned to myself. _He needs this_. _Let him have this_.

I heard him exhale, felt the tiny flinch as I touched the bite on his collarbone. I ran a hand through his hair, down his body with all my markings and scratches. I wanted to cry, for it felt like giving him away; I was to share him with someone I ought to care nothing for.

I kissed him and kissed him again. He let out a confused sound, which turned into surprise when I grabbed him below. He had mostly recovered, and soon grew hard in my hand, though of course he was still worried about me.

"Wait, Kate," he panted, "we shouldn't, you were bleeding —"

I gave him a squeeze, and tugged him to my core. He was still hesitant, but I didn't care; I needed him inside me — I needed us to be the closest we could physically be, before I had the courage to say what I needed to say. Finally, after some prodding, he relented and eased himself in very gradually, making extra sure he wasn't hurting me again.

"Matt?" I said, when he was more or less buried in me.

"Hmm?" he asked, kissing my forehead. "Are you okay?" He obviously wasn't going to start moving unless I asked him to.

I braced myself. We were together, and this was for the both of us. The first time tonight had been for escape; _this_ time, this moment… this was for strength. We were connected, and he was inside me, warm and full. I laced my hand through his.

 _I'm ready_ , I said to myself. _I'm ready_.

"When we land," I said softly, "I want to go with you. To see Ellie again."


End file.
